


Ashes of Icarus

by Grotesgi



Series: Ashes [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Discussion of Abortion, Dubious Consent, Mechpreg, Other, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 57,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27190282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grotesgi/pseuds/Grotesgi
Summary: Cross-faction relations? Yup. Treason? For sure. “Oh my god you knocked me up”? That too.He’s damned is what he is.
Relationships: Ironhide/Sunstreaker (Transformers), Megatron/Sunstreaker (Transformers), Sideswipe & Sunstreaker (Transformers)
Series: Ashes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009359
Comments: 171
Kudos: 115





	1. Premise

“The sparkling’s combined spark signature matches no Autobot here on Earth—or any on Cybertron, for that matter.”

Sunstreaker glared at the wall with even greater intensity. Ratchet let his words sink in for a moment before he moved to block Sunstreaker’s view of it.

Sunstreaker resolutely stared at the medic’s chest instead, scowling at the Autobot insignia that scowled right back at him. How easy it was to blame all of his problems on that damned thing.

“I’ll ask you again, and I need you to be honest with me: Who is the sire?”

He could feel Sideswipe’s optics on him, quiet, without judgement, but completely unhelpful too. Sideswipe strived to remain neutral in this whole situation, and to Sunstreaker’s chagrin he was doing a reasonably good job at it too, deflecting Ratchet’s attention from himself to land it all _squarely_ on Sunstreaker.

Naturally, Sunstreaker didn’t find himself too grateful for that.

“None of your business,” Sunstreaker responded like he had responded every time leading to this, finally lifting his optics to glower at Ratchet. His stare was met with a look of frustration—and concern.

The concern aggravated him more than anger would’ve. Ratchet _should_ have been angry. Sunstreaker didn’t trick himself into thinking the medic hadn’t already figured things out, even if he didn’t know the specifics.

And yet he seemed more worried for Sunstreaker’s welfare than the number of instances of the Autobot code he had verifiably broken with this little… _Surprise_ of his.

“I’ll make it my business,” Ratchet said. At the corner of his optic, Sideswipe straightened a little, the both of them surprised by Ratchet’s declaration. So far he had merely accepted the refusal to give out any details.

He should’ve guessed that wasn’t going to last.

“I’ll give you sixteen months,” Ratchet continued. “If you don’t tell me who the sire is before that, I _will_ tap into the spec ops’ records and compare the sparkling’s signature to… All recorded Decepticons. Once I do that, the command will be alerted, and I’ll have to give them answers.”

Sunstreaker glared. Sixteen months. Even the twins’ patchy knowledge on these matters could inform them that that was about the time the _physical_ signs of carrying would begin to make themselves known.

It would be difficult to hide things, then.

He didn’t avert his gaze from Ratchet’s when he set his jaw. _“Whatever.”_

Ratchet frowned, but he’d be damned if he let one grouchy medic scare him into submission after surviving heated relations with the Lord of the Decepticons himself.

And came home with proof to show for it, too.

Frag his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic won't be my focus but I'll work on it in between other stuff 'cause I just like what it's about. Expect sporadic updates.


	2. Let's Go Back a Bit

Motherfucking _Earth._

He hated it, but at least it had some good curse words. Fuck was a good one. Damn. Hell. Insinuating things about one’s mother or father or what you did with them.

Because for some reason the organics thought those things bad. Oh, no, he did know the reason. Genes. Organics could mess those up with some inbreeding.

So they had decent excuses for being against it.

But that was the thing, they were _organic._ There were organics everywhere, because it was an organic planet, full of dirt and disgusting plant matter and fleshlings that got all over the place. No crack or crevice was safe.

Excuse him, then, if he wasn’t too pleased to return from another patrol covered in dust that clung on his plating inside and out. Sideswipe was prattling on about whatever as they transformed in front of the Ark and headed into the downed and buried ship. Sunstreaker didn’t listen and Sideswipe didn’t care that he didn’t listen.

You know, the usual.

He set the course straight for the washracks and Sideswipe pranced along beside him, a-bubble with energy despite just coming off from a very long drive. At least he knew better than to argue about _first_ cleaning themselves up, _then_ worrying about everything else. Like fueling. Or recharging.

Not that either of them needed to fuel or recharge yet, but even if they did.

The washracks… Were not empty. Sunstreaker scowled at the _whistling_ that could be heard before they even entered. Bumblebee.

And Tracks.

_Ugh._

“Gentlemechs!” Sideswipe crowed as they entered, catching the attention of the two occupants. Tracks looked as unhappy to see them as Sunstreaker did; Bumblebee just hollered a greeting.

“What you’re going to do _now,”_ Sunstreaker continued on the heels of Sideswipe’s little grab for attention, “is _leave.”_

Sideswipe’s smile never once left his face. Sunstreaker made sure the doorway was clear for Tracks and Bumblebee to file out, and crossed his arms expectantly.

Bumblebee didn’t put up a fight, just turned off his shower and went to dry himself up. Okay, cool.

Tracks, however?

“Slag off, Sunstreaker,” he growled. “These are _public_ washracks, if you’d forgotten.”

“I definitely did not forget,” Sunstreaker countered coldly, narrowing his optics at the blue mech who _thought_ he was pretty. Prettier than Sunstreaker, even.

Deluded little _fool._

“Changes nothing. _Out,”_ he snapped, jerking his helm in the direction of the door. Bumblebee had stalled, glancing uncertainly between them. The tension in the room rose, none of them was blind to that fact.

An easy smile continued to play on Sideswipe’s face.

Tracks revved his engine in defiance. Sunstreaker’s revved _louder._

_“Last chance,”_ he growled.

Tracks didn’t heed the warning, a sneer forming on his face. He tossed the scrub in his servo at Sunstreaker, a clear instigation.

Sideswipe caught the offending object in mid flight before it had any chances of hitting Sunstreaker. Tracks only looked more peeved by that fact.

But Sunstreaker had had enough. To the credit of his _stupidity,_ Tracks refused to be cowed when Sunstreaker began to stalk towards him, just straightening his back in what was a clear gesture of ‘make me’, unspoken as it was.

And oh, Sunstreaker would _make him,_ and take pleasure in it too. 

Tracks was a formidable warrior on his own right, it was just that Sunstreaker was _better_ in every way. When he moved to close those last few feet, it was before Tracks could react. Sunstreaker’s fist hit the underside of his jaw before the blue mech’s reflexes could save him, sending Tracks reeling, stumbling, clanging against the wall behind him. Sunstreaker moved in without giving him time to recover, grabbing the Corvette by the back of his neck and bodily dragging him to the door. Tracks was cursing and struggling, but the harder he fought, the tighter Sunstreaker’s grip got, until the prints of his digits were clearly indented on Tracks’ neck.

Bumblebee at least showed some smarts and hurried to the door and out through it before him. Sideswipe swept his arms and bowed in an exaggerated genteel gesture of 'this way, please', snickering away as Sunstreaker threw Tracks through the doorway after Bumblebee, and closed the door on his heels.

“You know Prowl’s gonna have a field day on your hide for that,” Sideswipe laughed as they headed to the showers in the now conquered washracks. Sunstreaker just grunted in response, stepping under the spray without fanfare and puffing his armor to let the solvent trail into his internals.

Dust, grime, and dirt. Primus, Earth _sucked._

They washed each other and themselves, not in silence, because Sideswipe couldn’t keep his fat vocalizer shut for more than a minute or two. Sunstreaker would've sworn he was as bad as Bluestreak, sometimes. The both of them just hated quiet.

Which meant Sunstreaker very rarely got any quiet either, at most so when Sideswipe was recharging.

He didn’t acknowledge most of what Sideswipe said, but that didn’t discourage his twin at all. Never had, never would. It wasn’t even about being acknowledged, anyway, just about making noise for the sake of making noise. The patter of solvent against armor and soft drag of a scrub against plating just wasn’t enough, _evidently._

Surprisingly, they managed to wash up before anyone came to yell at them—or _him—_ over throwing out Tracks and Bumblebee. Well, Bumblebee was so peace loving that he probably wasn’t going to say anything about it anyway, but Tracks definitely would. No doubt he’d hear about the whole thing still, but they had the time to dry themselves and make it to the rec room without anyone interrupting them. 

They even managed to get their ratios and sit down in one of the corner tables Sunstreaker preferred. Sideswipe had stopped talking in favor of humming the tune of whatever his latest favorite song was as they sipped from their cubes, not in much of a rush. Sunstreaker was looking forward to a thorough polishing session, but Sideswipe wasn’t. He just wanted to get to what was _his_ idea of fun.

Too bad, he’d just have to help Sunstreaker reach all of his frame first. What was the point of having two frames if he couldn’t make use of them, seriously?

As a bit of a compromise, they’d take their time with this, even if you would have thought that Sideswipe would be eager to just get over it. The faster it was done, the faster he could get to his own things, but Sideswipe was too focused on short term gratification to reason things like that.

Alas, their peace wasn’t meant to last. Sunstreaker’s optics focused on the doorway when a certain someone of black and white and doorwings entered.

Said wings had a decidedly annoyed tilt to them. He was very familiar with that position of theirs.

“Sunstreaker,” Prowl said as he approached. Sunstreaker grunted. There was no way Prowl would _ever_ sound angry instead of just coolly professional, but he was irked. Sunstreaker tried to hide his smirk behind his cube, but according to the twitch of the tactician’s wings, he didn’t quite succeed.

Oh well.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to bully others?” Prowl continued even more coldly now that it was proven Sunstreaker found the whole situation amusing, as he often did. 

Amusing, but also annoying. “Go eat a dick,” Sunstreaker said with a roll of his optics before turning his attention away entirely and setting to ignoring the SIC. “Jazz’s maybe. I bet he’d like that.” Prowl’s doorwings twitched harder.

There was an amused huff off to the side, and when Sunstreaker glanced that way, he could see Mirage desperately trying to hold onto his noble veneer and _not_ laugh at crude things that were supposed to be well below him. 

Alas, he’d spent a bit too much time with the twins. And Jazz. Jazz was no better.

Jazz would’ve found that funny, no doubt.

Prowl, not so much. “Don’t think I won’t assign you to the _dustiest_ patrols and lock the washracks for you and Sideswipe.”

Well, that got Sunstreaker’s attention. Sideswipe laughed beside him as Sunstreaker’s optics snapped back to the tactician and narrowed.

Prowl’s optics narrowed right back at him. “You wouldn’t _dare,”_ the golden twin hissed. Patrols on the dirtiest routes and no washracks afterwards?

 _Hell_ no.

“Oh, I would,” Prowl responded, and sadly, Sunstreaker knew he was right. Prowl damn well would dare. Mech had a spine of steel too, and Sunstreaker had spent long enough under his command to know there was absolutely nothing he could do to intimidate the mech out of his damned _ideas._

“This is your one and only warning. The washracks are _public_ and will remain so whether you like or not. 

“And don’t take this out on Tracks either, or there _will_ be consequences.”

Pits, it was like Prowl read his processors sometimes. Sunstreaker scowled and weighed the promise of _his_ bad time against his fantasies of _Tracks’_ bad time. 

He’d have to revisit those thoughts when he saw that loser again.

“Do we have an understanding?” Prowl asked and Sunstreaker rolled his optics again before slouching further in his seat.

“Sure,” he muttered sullenly.

Before Prowl had the chance to say anything to that, his doorwings stiffened—a few seconds before the alarm sounded and Red Alert’s notice of Decepticon activity sprang on everyone’s HUDs. Ironhide’s orders on who was going to get dispatched followed shortly after.

The twins’ names were on that list.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker shared a look that quickly turned into ferocious grins, before they bolted towards the exit.

Time to kick some ‘Con aft.

* * *

Skyfire was quick in taking them to the scene of the Decepticons once again stealing energy from some power plant Sunstreaker didn’t give one flying fuck about. Good news was that the place was already evacuated, so there was no need to follow high and mighty Optimus’ orders about not causing any squishies to die as collateral damage.

Seriously, there were millions of them on this planet. No one would miss a dozen or two.

The Decepticons were present in force, but now, so were the Autobots. Some of the Seekers took to the skies to harass the largely ground bound _good guys._

Twins? Oh, Sunstreaker should have been as incapable at getting off the ground as the majority of his comrades, but Sideswipe’s jetpack had been a game changer ever since he got it. On Prowl’s order to do something about the fliers before they could bomb the Autobot forces, Sideswipe got the both of them into the air, tossing Sunstreaker onto the back of Ramjet while Sideswipe went after Dirge. 

_Jet judo._ The Decepticon fliers on Earth were already far too familiar with it, but the twins were just _too good_ for the ‘Cons to evade them no matter how much experience they were all gaining with this. The fliers could learn their tricks all they wanted, they’d always come up with new ones to get to inflict the damage they wanted. 

Sure, ground to air missiles existed too, and Sideswipe wasn’t the only one of the Autobots who had those, but where was the fun in that? A hands on approach was much more satisfying.

With all the familiarity that came from having ridden this same rodeo so many times before, Sunstreaker… _Neutralized_ Ramjet in short order, sending the flier into a wicked nosedive.

Of course, the hard part was the fact he was perfectly incapable of any manner of flight himself, unlike his brother. That came with certain dangers when you came down from the sky at a high velocity.

But he was built durable, to put it mildly. Sunstreaker jumped off Ramjet’s back a few seconds before the screaming ‘Con made headfirst contact with the unforgiving ground. For his part, Sunstreaker landed in what couldn’t be called anything more than a _crash_ either, but at least he still had all of his frame’s functions to himself and could do all the usual bending of the knees and rolling that reduced some of the force of a hard landing. 

He ended up in a crouch, a little worse for wear but fully functional despite the aches in his struts. The sounds of battle were… Some ways off, actually. Gunfire, the scream of missiles, all that, it wasn’t in his immediate vicinity.

That gave him the time to brush himself off a bit. Dirt and grass and more dirt… He seriously hated this planet.

And… See, Sunstreaker was used to looks and stares. Of course he was, he was one of the most beautiful—if not _the_ most beautiful—mecha in existence. Mecha couldn’t get enough of him, which he was perfectly alright with as long as they did it from a distance and left it to just _looks._

He could feel optics on him now too, which was a little unusual when usually in battles most were focused on the fighting instead of admiring him—a crime, really—but… He could already guess whose optics they were on him.

Sunstreaker glanced up, and sure enough, _Megatron_ was staring at him across the distance.

And why had he expected it? Because this had happened a few times before now, too. In a few battles by now, Megatron had just… _Watched_ him. Not approaching, not trying to engage him, but it was _Megatron._ Just the mech’s optics had enough weight in them to make lesser sparks cower. There was unspeakable _strength_ in him that shone in his deep red gaze— _red,_ the color of the Decepticons.

The color of _evil._

And the most corrupt of them all was looking straight at him.

But Sunstreaker was no _lesser_ spark. He didn’t avert his gaze, he didn’t flinch, he didn’t _give._

Instead he raised his chin, and stared right back. Even from this distance Sunstreaker could see Megatron’s optical ridges rising. They hadn’t really had the time for staring contests before now, Sunstreaker had always been too busy not having his aft shot to do more than confirm that the burn on his plating was caused by Megatron.

He wasn’t too busy now, and Megatron looked… _Impressed._

But what had he expected? Anyone who knew anything about Sunstreaker knew that he didn’t bow to fear, if he even felt the emotion. He didn’t now. Maybe he should have. Megatron was beyond dangerous, one of the most powerful Cybertronians to have _ever_ existed—and while Sunstreaker was formidable himself, Megatron was on a whole nother level. Common judgement had it that only the likes of _Optimus Prime_ could take him on and hope to win. 

Anyone else could only hope to stall him.

Did _Megatron_ know anything about him though? Did he have preexisting expectations of Sunstreaker?

Did he _remember_ him?

::SUNSTREAKER!::

The volume with which he was called broke the spell and pulled him back to reality. Sunstreaker raised a servo to the side of his helmet—the universal signal he was in a comm. call, for _Megatron’s_ benefit. Wouldn’t want him to think Sunstreaker had suddenly turned into a mouse and scurried off because of it, spooked by the tyrant’s unwavering focus.

 _Never_ would he do that.

 _::Yeah?::_ Sunstreaker asked, annoyed over the interruption and letting it ring loud and clear in his voice.

Prowl sounded beyond exasperated by this point. He had probably tried to reach him for a while already. ::I don’t know _what_ you’re doing, but I need you backing up Sideswipe.::

::Sideswipe’s fine,:: Sunstreaker argued after confirming so with his brother. Sideswipe was much amused over his distraction and a _little_ annoyed that he’d just abandoned the battle and his twin with it, but he wasn’t doing anything he would’ve desperately needed Sunstreaker’s presence for.

Prowl? Prowl did not agree. ::That. Is. An. _Order._ ::

Aha. And what happened if you ignored Prowl’s _order_ orders?

You got stupid and boring punishments, that’s what. 

Sunstreaker rolled his optics, flipped the bird at Megatron, and ran back towards the main battle.


	3. Is He Wrong?

If it had been just one time, that’d be its own thing. The timing would’ve been _way_ off, but even so… Everyone admired Sunstreaker until they got even somewhat used to his beauty and didn’t immediately allow it to distract themselves every time they saw him.

If Megatron had been doing just _that,_ it’d be one thing. Ogle him for his looks a bit, then move his attention back to more pressing matters, like winning a war.

But he’d done it _repeatedly._ The latest battle was only one instance of it.

And even weirder was that they’d fought their little war on Earth for quite some time already. Not long by Cybertronian standards for sure, but still. There had been battle after battle, as small in scale as they were here. Megatron had seen him several times before without paying much attention to him.

So what had changed? Why did he suddenly find the sovereign leader of the Decepticons _staring_ at him in the middle of battles? Did it mean something?

How could it not mean something? It was so… Intentional. They weren’t just fleeting glances to determine the position and intent of an enemy, no.

This was _staring._ Prolonged and focused.

What did Megatron want?

Good sense said it could be nothing good. Nothing was ever _good_ when it came to the Decepticons, and least of all when it came to Megatron. He was the number one enemy of any Autobot, the one mech who had thrust all of Cybertron into a bloody war that had obliterated the numbers of their entire _species…_

He’d brought about only bad things, many on this side of the war would say. He was the walking embodiment of _wrongdoing_ of the most severe degree. The blood he’d verifiably spilled could have filled oceans, and that wasn’t even going into the rumors of what he’d done, caused, or ordered.

Sunstreaker should have been… What? Horrified that he was getting Megatron’s attention like that? Displeased at the very least. Fearful?

He wasn’t.

Sideswipe glanced at him where they sat side by side at their corner table. Sunstreaker had barely drunk his energon, too busy sorting out his own _head._ He’d stared at the cube a lot, though. It was surprising it hadn’t already combusted from being the sole recipient of his attention.

And Sideswipe, he wasn’t rushing or pushing him, just enjoying the rollercoaster of Sunstreaker’s thoughts, amused. That was Sideswipe for you. Well of acceptance and good spirits, as easygoing as they came. Most of the time, anyway.

Even now, as Sunstreaker’s thoughts started down a path no good Autobot’s should have, Sideswipe didn’t say anything. Didn’t judge.

Didn’t particularly care, either. He trusted Sunstreaker to have it, whatever _it_ was. That was what they were trying to define, right then.

Because there wasn’t any negative emotion in him when he thought about Megatron’s stare on him. It was _Megatron,_ for Primus sake. Leader of an entire faction, wannabe leader of all of Cybertron–

An exceptionally powerful individual that could dominate almost anyone he wanted to.

And Sunstreaker had, by all appearances, _caught his attention._

He was flattered, that’s what he was. He deserved it, no doubt about it, but… Primus, it was _exciting._ He hadn’t considered any of it before—hadn’t given Megatron the time of day as anything more than something to annihilate. 

Hadn’t thought of Megatron as an individual, but rather as just a concept. Leader of the Decepticons called Megatron, lovely, now _kill it._

But Megatron was an individual, and like any individual, he would have his goals and aspirations. A _personality_ that Sunstreaker could build from what he knew, but had never bothered to shape into a living being before.

Megatron was wicked. There was no denying that. But he was also impossibly driven and ambitious. Ruthless. Nothing stopped him when he went after something. He just took, and took, and _took._ He was a victor, a survivor who had carved his way from the mines, into the Pits, and then onto the centerstage. He was forever written down in history, for better or for worse. 

He had come from _nothing_ to be _everything._

An unbelievable amount of intelligence, strength of mind, character, spirit, and body, fortitude and _will_ was required to achieve _any_ of that under an oppressive caste system that would have told him he was _nothing_ and to _stay down_ his whole life. 

Megatron hadn’t listened.

Look where it had gotten him. _Lord_ Megatron. He had a whole army behind him—Cybertron lay in ruins at his pedes.

And _that_ Megatron had decided Sunstreaker was interesting, in some way.

Yeah, he was pretty sure he should’ve been fearful, _concerned,_ all things considered–

But instead all he could feel was a heady _thrill_ at the thought of what Megatron might want from him—and what he would still do to get it. Some staring across a battlefield could only be the beginning.

Megatron was a Decepticon, though. And Sunstreaker was an Autobot. As an _Autobot,_ the last thing he should have wanted was the personalized attention of the enemy.

Well. He had never pretended to be a very good Autobot. He was too temperamental, too intense, too _violent_ to ever really fit in. Kaon and the Pits were written all over his spark and frame, his _mind._ He wasn’t made of the softer things the true Autobots were. He wasn’t kind, he wasn’t merciful. He fought and he killed because he _liked_ it, not just because he had to. It was a sport.

No, he was and always had been a bad, bad Autobot. What was some more piled atop that? Bury what he _should be_ even further beneath the corpses of the rules he broke.

Sideswipe was wholly entertained by his complete disinterest in even playing the part of a rule-abiding Autobot, but he was one to talk. Sideswipe wasn’t _as_ extreme, but he still enjoyed violence in ways Optimus Prime vehemently disapproved of. And _rules?_ Yeah, Sideswipe had never given a damn about those, because no one was _motivating–_

“You drinkin’ that or not?”

Sunstreaker’s helm snapped up at the familiar voice he never wanted to hear. Cliffjumper was staring at him—Sideswipe sat up straighter next to him, already prepared for things to take a sharp turn far South.

That was all he and Cliffjumper seemed to ever manage. 

Things weren’t starting that well this time either, because Cliffjumper was already sneering at him before he’d even had the chance to _do_ anything. Not to be outdone, Sunstreaker bared his denta in a threat that would inevitably go unheeded, if everything was about to go at all like it always did. 

“What do you want?” Sunstreaker growled, pulling his cube to himself and finally taking a drink from it. Pits, it was going to start to crystallize at this rate.

“You seem awful thoughtful,” Cliffjumper said, coming to stand next to the table. No doubt he would’ve leaned across it or something, if he wasn’t a fragging _mini._ “Didn’t know you even had enough processing power for that.”

Sideswipe snorted, “You’re one to talk.”

 _Thank you,_ Sideswipe, for being helpful for once. Sunstreaker grunted in agreement, and Cliffjumper growled at the both of them this time around—before shifting his attention back to just Sunstreaker. “Don’t think I didn’t see you looking at ol’ Megs last battle,” the minibot continued. Sunstreaker’s glare sharpened. “Finally gonna make good on things and switch the damn sides? Already fantasizing about it, huh?”

Red Alert and Cliffjumper, the two mechs that had a forever obsession about them being traitors in the making just because they’d never quite fit in. At least he didn’t have Red Alert breathing down his neck this time, just _Cliffjumper._

Sunstreaker narrowed his optics. “Keep dreaming, short stick. You know I’d off you in a sparkpulse if I _switched sides._ You wouldn’t want that, _would you?”_

Cliffjumper growled at him. “‘Con talk if I ever heard some! Usual coming from _you_ though, ain’t it? I’m surprised you’re not cozying up with _Mirage_ again, bein’ kindred spirits about this whole thing.”

“Cut the crap, CJ,” Sideswipe said with a roll of his optics. “Just ‘cause you’re always thinking we’re about to jump ship, don’t make it true.”

“Oh yeah? Then what was your brother doing last battle, _not_ fighting the enemy?” Cliffjumper snapped.

For once he had a perfectly good point, but that didn’t mean Sunstreaker appreciated his tone any more than he usually did. “Go frag yourself with a goddamn cactus, Cliffjumper,” Sunstreaker snarled. “I’ll stay a fragging Autobot just to spite you, deal?”

“Like slag you will.” Primus, he just didn’t know when to stop, did he? Sunstreaker growled in warning, the generous mech he was.

Cliffjumper didn’t listen or care. “I say it now, it’s just a matter of time until you’re jumping on Megatron’s spike and begging to fragging join him, the way you were staring at him.”

He’d given enough warnings, hadn’t he? Sunstreaker was off his seat and around the table before Cliffjumper had had the time to do more than take a step back. A yell from the mini and he was sent flying into the not-nearest wall, but this was _Cliffjumper._ He was back on his pedes as soon as he’d landed, and like the suicidal idiot he was, charging right at Sunstreaker.

That worked just fine for him. Sunstreaker steadied himself and took the impact of the smaller mech bodily ramming into him, and off they were. Cliffjumper may have been a minibot, but he was also a warrior used to fighting those much larger than him.

And Sunstreaker, he was also used to fighting those bigger than him. It put them on more even ground than he would have liked, but he was _Sunstreaker._

 _Of course_ Cliffjumper eventually ended up pinned on the ground, missing both arms and cursing up a storm. Sunstreaker snarled atop him, bearing his whole weight on the smaller mech and giving him no chances to escape. 

Satisfactory.

“SUNSTREAKER!” Ah, he knew that voice too. Sunstreaker let his helm roll in the direction of the doorway lazily, his optics slower to follow to see Ironhide marching towards him, face like a thundercloud. “Prowl’s office. _Right now.”_

“He started it,” Sunstreaker huffed, but got off his little sparring buddy with just one more kick at Cliffjumper’s side.

Even that was enough to have Ironhide’s engine roaring. Unsurprisingly. He didn’t say anything more though, and Sunstreaker merely stalked past him, just not far enough so to avoid their shoulders colliding. Ironhide growled in offense, but didn’t escalate the situation further.

Sunstreaker wished he would have. Attacking your commanding officer unprovoked was one thing, but given a _reason_ to do so…

Alas, such was not to happen. No one interrupted him on his walk out of the rec room, Sideswipe trailing behind him, snickering to himself. “Oh man, did you see the amount of blood? You tore those lines to _shreds,_ Ratchet’s gonna have to straight up swap ‘em. Poor Cliff. He _so_ should’ve seen that coming.”

Sunstreaker’s agreeing _hmph_ joined Sideswipe’s laughter as they took the route to Prowl’s office. The door opened to them as soon as they pinged for entrance, and a rather _severe_ looking Prowl waited for them on the other side of his desk.

But Prowl always looked severe. The brothers took seats on the chairs in front of Prowl’s desk, practically there just for them.

And then Sideswipe had already lifted his pedes the SIC’s desk, leaning back and crossing his servos behind his helm. “So what’s up today?” he asked with a wide grin that looked far too genuine to belong to a troublemaker of his caliber.

Even if it wasn’t technically Sideswipe in trouble this time.

“You know full well,” Prowl responded, giving the offending pedes a nasty look, but he only glanced at his brother briefly before the cold blue optics had already zeroed in on Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker raised an optical ridge in challenge.

“Humor me, Sunstreaker. What did Cliffjumper do to deserve that _this_ time?”

“Ran his mouth,” Sideswipe responded at once. “Like he usually does. Someone should teach ‘em to shut the damn thing.

“Oh, right, except Sunny’s been trying to do that since they met, and it hasn’t worked out.”

Excellent summary of the situation, even if Sunstreaker said so himself. He nodded his agreement.

Prowl pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge. “I believe it is pointless to give another speech about how you should be the bigger person.” Yeah, it was. ”Go to the brig and lock yourselves in. One week.”

“Do I get my supplies?” Sunstreaker asked sharply, although they were both halfway out of their seats.

“After relieving Cliffjumper of _both_ of his arms? No.”

“Oh come on–” Sideswipe began to laugh, but Prowl didn’t let him finish. The tactician’s engine revved in warning that had the brothers filing out.

And only once they were in the hallway did Sideswipe properly give into his laughter, stumbling like a drunkard as they headed for the brig. “What did that mean, if you’d only taken off _one_ arm you would’ve gotten your slag?” he cackled. Sunstreaker merely grumbled, significantly less amused that he’d been denied the chance to polish himself for a _week._ “Oh, you seriously gotta learn to hold back juuuuust enough to still get your concessions. Game the system!”

Well, at least one of them had fun with this. “I think I’d rather deliver the maximum amount of punishment,” Sunstreaker countered as they entered the brig and walked halfway down its corridor before turning into adjacent cells and stepping in. The bars activated on their heels, and the one week timer started to count down.

“Just straight up kill ‘em next time if that’s what you wanna,” Sideswipe suggested. 

“And get court martialed?” Sunstreaker asked in return. Bad idea, Sideswipe. A very bad idea.

As one they stepped up the cells’ narrow berths and laid down until there was nothing but a wall between then. “Would shut ‘im up for good, though,” Sideswipe pointed out.

He wasn’t _wrong._


	4. The Unmaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some bad bedside manners courtesy of Ratchet in this one.

They did their time and got their freedom and _right to wax and polish_ back after the assigned week had passed. From there it was back to the usual slog of rotating duties, some less desirable than others.

The quiet made sense. The Decepticons were largely successful in their last grab for energy to convert into energon. They wouldn’t be in a pressing need to stage another attack too soon.

For Sunstreaker (and Sideswipe), it meant boredom. They were _warriors._ The fight was in their spark, but they were denied it. Sparring, even with each other, was a poor substitute when they weren’t allowed to go _all out._

His blood screamed for the violence, but the only one he got to slag was Sideswipe, and even that was enough to earn them punishment detail. They weren’t even allowed to beat up each other, and they expected him to just _deal?_

Yes, yes they did. They expected him to sit down _quiet and pretty_ in between battles, like everyone else. It didn’t work in anyone’s favor that he wasn’t designed for the calm between fights. Neither was Sideswipe, but Sideswipe directed his frustrations in fragging and pranks and general troublemaking—somewhat more acceptable than Sunstreaker’s penchant for delivering some serious pain to others for the smallest slight.

But that was a familiar song and dance to everyone by now. Even Tracks and Cliffjumper managed to stay out of his way enough that he wasn’t sent back to the brig for tearing into them. Prowl knew what he was doing, anyway, and as always when Sunstreaker was feeling particularly _twitchy,_ handled everyone’s schedules in a way that made Sunstreaker least likely to cross paths with his usual antagonists and targets. Instead he got to spend time with the kind of mecha that just didn’t call for a fist to the face, or could take it with a laugh. Sideswipe. Jazz. Blaster. Hound. Bluestreak. Mirage. _Bumblebee._

Primus, he seriously hated Bumblebee, but the whole of spec ops would’ve been on his aft if he hurt their precious baby. Even Sunstreaker had enough sensibility to not mess with that bunch. He wouldn’t know what misery was before he made an enemy out of Jazz and co.

_No thanks._

All of it was lowkey torture he was never going to get used to—not after spending the better portion of his life having the _opposite_ beaten into him. 

Of course, the _Autobots_ wouldn’t get that. They lacked the whole framework to understand it–

But that was something he and Sideswipe had had to accept a long time ago, and cope to the best of their ability.

Which wasn’t always very impressive work. Admittedly they didn’t always _try_ very hard, either.

It was war, though, and it wasn’t over. Peaceful spells were never going to last, and didn’t this time either. The Decepticons eventually staged another attack that Red Alert… _Alerted_ them to, and the twins were called into action, as they usually were—both because of their sheer effectiveness, and because they become walking health hazards of the highest degree if they were denied a chance to _let out some steam._

Or was that just Sunstreaker?

Skyfire brought them onto the scene, battle ensued, and he would _never_ get enough of the feel of ripping into another mech—the sensation, gruesome and rewarding, of their blood spraying across his plating, still warm when it landed.

Starscream lived up to his name by being a particularly loud one when you did that to him, but he was also the Decepticons’ Air Commander for a reason that he made perfectly obvious once more by maneuvering himself, even damaged, into twists and turns that dislodged even Sunstreaker. Sideswipe sent a quick inquiry on his need for a catch, but Sunstreaker waved him off—they weren’t too high up.

It would hurt, but he’d live.

And that he did, hard landings or no. 

It was just that the shot of a fusion cannon sprayed the ground inches to his right the moment he came to a stop after his fall. Sunstreaker sprang to the side at once, but he _knew._

It wasn’t a thing about his reflexes that spared him, those were too late. It wasn’t about Megatron being a bad shot, either.

Megatron had missed because he’d wanted to miss, where he could have just as easily blown Sunstreaker’s helm off before he had the chance to dodge. 

Sunstreaker spun to face him a moment before Megatron’s fist would’ve hit him, and this time it was about the merit of his own training that he dropped below the strike before it could connect. He spared a thought to the foolishness of taking on Megatron without even comming for backup, but a far larger part of him ate at him with _curiosity._

Here he was, finally within Megatron’s reach, able to _fully_ receive his attention. 

_What would happen?_ What would Megatron do?

He didn’t inform anyone of the situation. Neither did Sideswipe. He struck back at Megatron instead, _excitement_ thrumming in his lines. There was no one around to interrupt them, no one around to get in the way—no one to _save_ him. 

“Sunstreaker, isn’t it?” Megatron asked after deflecting his blow, but Sunstreaker merely followed it up with another.

“One and only,” he confirmed with a growl, frowning at the way Megatron blocked him a little too easily. That just wouldn’t do. His next move was faster, and that Megatron didn’t block, grunting instead at the impact.

_There_ we go.

But it wasn’t as if Megatron was just going to stand there and take it. Oh no, he returned it, and _Pits,_ but Sunstreaker could block it all he wanted, it did him no good. He doubted Megatron was even using all of his strength, but Sunstreaker’s battlegrade armor caved in from one hit, sending him minor warnings that he fluently acknowledged and _ignored._

He was physically outmatched, that much was obvious— _as if he hadn’t known it already._

What was he supposed to feel at that?

What did he feel?

_Primus, the Thirteen, his spark was going to spin right out of its casing and fly off into the ether–_

The _power_ he was faced with. His engine revved as Megatron landed another hit to his two that the tyrant didn’t even attempt to dodge, just blocked, accepting the damage to his armor where Sunstreaker _couldn’t_ do the same. The damage he could inflict on Megatron didn’t compare with what Megatron could inflict on _him,_ and for Sunstreaker it became a game of evasion. He was smaller, he was faster, he had less reach–

He could only try to stay one step ahead, avoid Megatron’s attacks, and try to land his own whenever he saw an opening.

Did he have chances of actually downing the warlord?

_That wasn’t the point._

“You’ve been watching me,” Sunstreaker grunted after another strike that glanced him in the side, almost throwing him too far off balance to dodge the next one— _almost._

Not quite.

“Have I?” Control. Megatron was control. Calm and put together even through the fight Sunstreaker put up, like he wasn’t even _straining_ —but Sunstreaker didn’t discredit himself enough to think Megatron wasn’t working. _Everyone_ had their work cut out for them when fighting Sunstreaker.

_Just like last time._

Except this time they were both arguably _better_ than they’d ever been. Time and practice did that to you.

Sunstreaker threw himself into the fight, blood coursing in his lines too fast for comfort, and yet it only kept ratcheting _higher._ They weren’t equal, far from it, but it wasn’t one-sided either. Sunstreaker could hold his own, could dodge just enough to keep himself standing, deliver enough damage to remain a threat.

If Megatron was holding back at first, he stopped doing so soon enough when it became clear Sunstreaker wasn’t pulling any punches.

_Because where the fuck was the fun in that?_

It was motherfucking _pride_ he took in forcing the tyrant into taking it seriously, but of course, no less could be expected of him.

_Did Megatron expect?_

He had to. His memory couldn’t be so short that he’d have forgotten the times they’d faced off on Earth, short as those fights had been—he couldn’t have forgotten the goddamned glorious distraction Sunstreaker could be when there was no one else available to confront Megatron when he needed to be confronted. Those fights had all been brief for other reasons, and they’d always ended with Sunstreaker sporting the injuries–

But he’d _always_ stalled Megatron. 

“It’s quite alright, everyone does that,” Sunstreaker continued with a growl, _loving_ the thrum of pain and effort in his frame. 

This. This was _living._ “I’m too damn _gorgeous,_ I know.”

_“Ego,_ I see,” Megatron snarled back, and then Sunstreaker made a mistake.

He was too slow, too focused on his next opening.

He didn’t see Megatron’s feign for what it was.

A heavy, _heavy_ fist collided with his chest and sent him flying. Sunstreaker landed hard on his back, felt the ache of a caved chassis, commiserated the further ruin of his finish, _grunted—_ and then felt the heated end of a cannon pressing against his damaged chestplates.

Point blank they wouldn’t have been able to withstand the shot even if they were in perfect repair.

Megatron was staring down at him and Sunstreaker met his gaze without _fear,_ his frame shaking, but only from _anticipation–_

_“Megatron!”_

Disappointment. He shouldn’t have felt that when held at gunpoint, his whole life on the line, but he did. Sunstreaker glanced back at the same time Megatron glanced up to see Optimus charging towards them, ready to take on his nemesis. Megatron’s cannon lifted to fire at the approaching Prime instead–

And just like that, it was over. Sunstreaker rolled out of the way of the two significantly larger mechs before he got trampled, finding his pedes and feeling the damage in his frame—extensive, but not life threatening.

Ironhide ran after Optimus, Sideswipe hot on his heels, a few Seekers landed to stave them off, and the normal course of things continued for a moment longer before Megatron called a retreat, either tiring of the resistance or having gotten what he came for. Sunstreaker didn’t know.

Both him and Sideswipe were ever reluctant to just let the enemy go, but there wasn’t much else they could do without breaking some holy orders Optimus stood by stubbornly. Sunstreaker stared after the retreating Decepticons longingly until he could feel the ground shaking just so and looked up to see Optimus approaching.

“Are you alright?” the Prime asked, concern evident in gaze and voice.

Sunstreaker huffed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You shouldn’t have engaged Megatron alone, Sunstreaker. We didn’t even know you were fighting him.”

Prowl and Sideswipe approached, and without having to hear it, Sunstreaker knew Prowl took it as a bit of a personal failure that he had been left with Megatron without backup. It was Prowl’s job to direct battles in a way that those situations didn’t come to happen. 

But just as quickly, the attention shifted to Sideswipe.

“Why didn’t you let us know what was happening, Sideswipe?” Optimus asked from his brother.

Sunstreaker scowled, but Sideswipe didn’t do more than shrug. “He had it under control.”

“...It didn’t _look_ like he had it under control,” their grand leader said after a moment’s pause.

Sunstreaker grumbled. “Yeah, well, that last bit was a little unexpected.” Would Megatron have fired if Optimus hadn’t shown up?

Honestly, _probably._ Did he have any real reason not to? And every reason _to?_ It would’ve taken _two_ of the Autobots’ best fighters straight out of the game for good. That was a significant strategic advantage he could’ve gained with little effort.

Sideswipe silently questioned if that was his conclusion. Had Megatron’s interest been for nothing? Would he have killed him despite it?

Was it just his _ego_ talking, or why didn’t Sunstreaker quite _believe_ that?

But whatever Megatron might have done instead of shooting him through the spark… He wouldn’t find out now, thanks to _Optimus._ The Prime looked at him with that damned concern still, and Sunstreaker glared at him in return. “I ask that you don’t engage him again, Sunstreaker,” Optimus said at length. “Leave Megatron to me, please.”

_Ugh._ “Yeah yeah.”

Sideswipe huffed in amusement at his incredibly bad attitude as Sunstreaker turned on his heel and headed for Skyfire, leaving his commanders staring after him. No doubt they’d talk about him again, although he doubted he’d get more than talking tos for his stunt himself. Not like he’d actually broken anything more than Optimus’ _preferences._

* * *

“What the Pit drove you into taking on _Megatron?”_ Ratchet not-yelled at him as he triaged the extent of the damage done to his frame. Dents, mostly. _Deep_ dents that pressed his armor against his exoskeleton, and his exoskeleton against his internals.

“There was no one else around!” Sunsteaker growled back at him, glaring at the medic with the same intensity as Ratchet glared at him. 

At least until Ratchet turned his attention from him to jab a digit at Sideswipe instead. Sideswipe glanced up from where he had been picking at some of the paint peeling from the area around a gash he’d acquired— _don’t fragging do that_ —putting on his most innocent expression before Ratchet even not-yelled at him. “And you!” Jab jab went the digit. “Why didn’t _you_ help him?”

“He didn’t need it!” Sideswipe repeated his defense that sadly no one was too inclined to believe after the position Sunstreaker had ended up in.

Ratchet was no exception. “He nearly had his spark blown through and _‘he didn’t need it’?”_ the medic hissed, and then the tool in his servo was already flying through the air to hit Sideswipe in the helm with a small _clang_ and a _meep_ from his twin. 

Ratchet just picked up another one and let that fly too. Sideswipe dodged, this time.

“Cut it, Ratch,” Sunstreaker interjected a little tiredly. It got old fast to see mecha blaming Sideswipe. “He would’ve come if I’d _asked.”_

“And _why_ didn’t you ask?” Mission success, Ratchet’s attention was fully on him again. Sunstreaker got a hit upside his helm for his trouble and he growled in full offense. Wasn’t he banged up enough already, dammit? “Do you have a Primus damned _deathwish?_ Or did you get caught so far up in your delusions that you thought you could’ve taken it?”

_What the slag–_ “I’m not delusional!” Sunstreaker snarled, sitting up.

Ratchet pushed him back down. “Oh yes you are, missy, if you think you had _that_ under control.”

Sunstreaker threw his arms up. Okay, so no one was going to believe them when they said it was a-okay. He could see why. He could! Honestly. 

But it _probably_ wouldn’t have ended as badly as everyone else seemed to think. Maybe.

He could be wrong too, though. Never knew with these things.

“So what are we going to do _next time?”_ Ratchet was growling at him again, and with the way he was brandishing the piece of medical equipment he was holding, Sunstreaker knew about how this was going to go. The usual ‘answer right or I’ll lovingly hit you until you do’. 

Ah, Ratchet’s caring.

“Preferably don’t engage Megatron?” Sunstreaker tried. And didn’t get hit. So, that was good.

_“And?”_

“Sideswipe on the scene if it can’t be avoided!” his brother piped in.

Ratchet nodded, but _still_ he wasn’t satisfied. _“And?”_

What the pit more? “...Let others know if it happens?” Sunstreaker ventured. That was one of the things he’d failed to do this time around, right?

“Yes. Good.” There we go, a satisfied nod from Ratchet, and then he went back to work, removing armor plates to inspect the damage underneath. “And don’t you fragging forget, either!”

Judging by the extent of banged up frame bits, they’d be at this for a while still.

Sunstreaker resigned himself to spending some more time under the care of their number one medic. He’d probably keep hearing about this for the whole duration.

_Sigh._


	5. (Don't) Take a Hint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dubcon starts here, ye have been warned.

It turned out that the Decepticons had probably gotten what they wanted before Megatron called their retreat, because again there was a length of time with absolutely _nothing_ happening. Ratchet fixed him up good, as he did with Sideswipe, they touched up their paint jobs and polished themselves to a fine shine Sideswipe was inevitably going to ruin within the span of a couple of hours–

And things went back to normal. Although Sunstreaker did get reminders from Optimus, Prowl, Ironhide, even _Jazz_ about how he shouldn’t fight Megatron all on his own.

Were they all so damn worried about him dying? Primus, he’d survived worse. Now, if Megatron had actually fired, that was one thing, but…

Okay, so maybe he had _possibly_ come very close to losing his damn life, and maybe no one just wanted to see him dying despite how talented he was at making everyone’s life hell on Earth.

As he proceeded to do with Tracks. Again. Something or other about their simultaneous washrack use. _Again._

Prowl deemed it not severe enough to throw him into the brig this time, but he did assign him to the less desirable patrol routes.

And it didn’t show in his expression or voice, but Sunstreaker could have sworn the tactician took sadistic pleasure in doing that, knowing how much Sunstreaker _hated_ the backwoods dirt roads. Sideswipe didn’t particularly enjoy them either, for that matter. He didn’t care so much about the dirt itself, or the rocks that flew up to ding their finish, but it was just uncomfortable to drive on. They were _sports cars_ for Primus’ sake! They barely had any ground clearance.

The moment there was a bump on the road, it was their undercarriage that hit it.

 _That,_ that right there, was torture, and Prowl just put them to it, because it was that or something even more unpleasant. And oh, Prowl _would_ come up with something even more unpleasant if he was pushed.

Past experience told as much. He could get deviously creative when he wanted to.

Or maybe he collaborated with Jazz for the best/worst ideas. It was a surprise Optimus even allowed some of the things he’d put the twins up to over the years. 

At least he hadn’t denied them access to washracks, this time. That was the only thing that made the damned patrols even somewhat bearable, knowing he could have a hot shower afterwards, followed by a few hours of tending to his finish. 

Sideswipe only ever stuck around for the first half an hour, but that was fine as long as they got all the parts he couldn’t reach on his own before his brother ran off to do whatever he was itching to do that time. It provided Sunstreaker with some quiet alone time that he was never too opposed to—a chance to bring out his _other_ paints and the canvases that weren’t just his own frame.

He had some creativity he needed to unleash regularly, after all—besides finding creative ways to tear others apart.

What could he say, he was an artist of several kinds. 

And it kept him out of public spaces, even if just momentarily. Everyone except Red Alert was just happy when he stayed in their quarters for a bit, Sunstreaker himself too.

Red Alert, he just thought they were only moments for Sunstreaker to plot something _nefarious._ To be fair, he sometimes did. Painting freed his mind for other things, detached him enough that he could let his thoughts loose without physically letting loose on the same go. Mix colors, brush strokes… Planning the ways to achieve the results he wanted. It was all so familiar. Just as familiar as taking _life_ was. 

Only considerably more peaceful, no?

Sadly, the relaxation never lasted long after he had to return to the day to day grind of putting up with everyone’s raging _stupidity._ How his comrades didn’t tear each other to shreds, he didn’t understand. Or was it just him who found practically everything they did aggravating?

Could be that.

But as much of a dark and broody loner as he was, he did have some company he kept relatively peacefully. Everyone got along with Jazz, for one, and Mirage… As different as their backgrounds were, they shared enough similarities that they’d—eventually—bonded.

After Sunstreaker had torn the noble to pieces enough times for being a stuck up little bitch.

They got along now, though, much to the surprise of many.

And Bluestreak. Mech had a way of worming under your plating. The grey Praxian sat next to him now, with Sideswipe on his other side and Jazz and Mirage opposite of them on the other side of the table. They talked and laughed around him, naturally incorporating him into the conversation through Sideswipe, but letting his contribution be little more than the occasional grunt or half-smile.

If he felt like saying something, he would, but… Really, he was content to let Sideswipe handle that part.

He knew these were mecha that were glad Megatron hadn’t offed him. Friends. Around them he could almost feel relieved that Optimus had shown up when he did.

Almost.

A larger part of him still wanted to find out what would have happened without the Prime’s interruption.

* * *

“Two more patrols of this, then we’ll be _free!”_ Sideswipe rejoiced as they turned from one dirt road onto another. The scenery at least was about as pretty as an organic planet could ever manage, lush forest surrounding them from two sides. Only their engines drowned out the natural sounds of the place.

Too bad he was a little too busy trying to avoid the unbecoming bumps and dips on the sorry excuse of a road to pay much attention to it.

“Two patrols too many,” Sunstreaker grumbled as another rock was sent flying by his wheel and hit him on the side of his chassis.

Fuck this, seriously.

“Shh, focus on the upside!” Sideswipe admonished him, revving his engine and accelerating just in time to really launch himself off the top of the small hill they were climbing.

Sunstreaker ignored the rocks and discomfort and followed suit, enjoying the short moment of his frame suspended on thin air–

Before gravity pulled him back down with a hard shove to his shocks.

More or less worth it, anyway. This would’ve been _so_ much more fun on asphalt, though. 

“Besides, isn’t this good inspiration for your art?” his twin continued, and Sunstreaker grunted noncommittally. It was, once he would be able to review his memory files. Incorporating the alien aspects of organic lifeforms into his work was a project he had worked on for a while now.

The results were pretty good, so far. The touch of unrealness of alien worlds added a nice new dimension to things.

No doubt Sideswipe would have had more to say, but he didn’t get the chance before their scanners picked up a Decepticon signature ahead of them. That was… Unexpected. 

Then again this had to be a patrol route for a reason. Maybe that reason was about to become apparent to them.

Once they got close enough to scan for a _spark_ signature, though…

“What the pit is he doing here by himself?” Sideswipe hissed at him urgently at the same time as a surge of emotions he probably shouldn’t have felt burst in Sunstreaker’s core. Curiosity. Excitement. Anticipation.

Sideswipe took note of that. Sunstreaker could feel his exasperation and the _is this seriously how we’re going to die,_ but nevertheless his brother just asked, “Do you want to report this in?”

No. No, he didn’t want to. Even if getting answers cost him his life, he didn’t want to. 

It turned out they couldn’t have even if they’d wanted to, once he checked. Someone was jamming communications signals.

Which likely suggested Soundwave was present, too.

It was like they were driving straight into a trap.

_So be it._

They drove until they reached a small clearing. Megatron was standing there in the middle of it, his back to them, arms clasped behind him—and sure enough, Soundwave was standing off to the side, watching their arrival.

They could’ve flown away if they’d wanted to, with the power of Sideswipe’s jetpack. Or tried to. Megatron and Soundwave could’ve tried to shoot them down, too, but the fact remained that they weren’t fully cornered even if they had no way to contact someone for backup.

And no will to do so, but no one needed to know that.

They were at a significant disadvantage, though. Soundwave they could’ve taken on, but Megatron… And that wasn’t even going into the fact the host might have his cassettes ready to be ejected. For all they knew they could be outnumbered as well as outclassed within a moment’s notice.

Sideswipe wasn’t fearful, but tense and cautious, prepared for the worst. Sunstreaker wasn’t fearful, but vibrating with anticipation. That could easily be mistaken for the _anger_ he was known for, though, after they pulled their fields in tight.

If they weren’t in the presence of a telepath, anyway.

Whatever this was… They’d play.

“What’s this?” Sideswipe asked after they’d transformed, a smile on his face and none of the tension in him visible on the outside. “Weren’t expecting company on this fine day! Came to enjoy the scenery too? Gotta say, it’s pretty awesome for a mudball like this, Sunny’s getting so many ideas to use in his paintings.”

No one cut him off, but no one acknowledged what he’d said, either. 

Silence only reigned for a moment, though. Megatron was the one to break it, finally turning to face them. “I was interrupted last time,” he said, his optics zeroing in on _Sunstreaker._

Sunstreaker bared his denta and growled.

“That will not happen _this_ time,” the warlord went on to announce, ignoring the threat aimed at him.

“What, gonna finish what you started and shoot me dead?” Sunstreaker asked before barking out a laugh. “Over my _dead_ body.”

No fear, no hesitation, call it bravery or call it stupidity, but it was _Sunstreaker_ that closed the distance between them, attacking the tyrant and no one else. Sideswipe went for Soundwave instead, and it was such, such a bad idea to split themselves up like this…

They did it anyway. _One on one._

Make it _real._

Megatron was ready for him, of course he was. He took his attack, deflected it, made one of his own… Treated him like an opponent. _Fought._

And Sunstreaker made him do it. _He_ didn’t hold back, and _he_ was aiming for the kill, because what else could he want to do? Megatron _had_ to step up to the challenge or lose his life.

That was how things were supposed to be. _Earn_ your right to live. Nothing was handed to you for free. You had to _take._

And Megatron, if anyone, should understand that. Look at the hole they’d both crawled out of—the Pits were behind them, their parent and mentor. They spoke the language. Fighter. Warrior.

_Gladiator._

Between this attack and the next, Sunstreaker pulled out his thermal sword, activated the blade, and sliced at Megatron’s armor. Even at partial heat the edge cut into the warlord’s plating with all the ease a heated weapon would.

Megatron had to jump out of the way, although actually putting him on the _defensive_ was nigh impossible.

Sunstreaker would try anyway.

“I remember you.” The words were growled, sending a shiver down his back.

They didn’t distract him.

“Do you, now?”

“You and your brother.” Megatron released his own sword, and he could almost hear it—the roar and dull pounding of spectators, bright lights bearing down on them to make them visible for _all_ to see…

They’d been here before, just like this. 

“What do you remember?” Sunstreaker asked, his face twisting into a snarl as one sword blocked the other.

But his spark was spinning like a wild thing, excitement and the _rightness_ of the situation driving it mad. 

If he’d die, _this_ would be the way to go, testing his mettle against a worthy opponent—just like he would have in another lifetime. 

“A deathmatch,” Megatron answered, and Sunstreaker’s optics burned brighter. “Between you and I.

“Only, we were _interrupted.”_

They were.

Sideswipe was paying more attention to him and Megatron than he was paying to Soundwave, but it was clear why. It was as if both Sideswipe and Soundwave were trying to keep the other from getting involved in the fight between Megatron and Sunstreaker—and when their goal was mutual, there wasn’t a whole left for them to do except some token attacks that hardly even constituted as proper fighting. 

This was between Sunstreaker and Megatron.

As it had once been.

“You spared me,” Sunstreaker grunted. He bolted to the side, but Megatron’s sword managed to cut him. Shallow.

“You were there against your will,” Megatron gave the same reason he had given _then._

“You made an example out of us.” A feign to the side, then a strike, the heat of his blade melting Megatron’s armor–

Sideswipe. Sideswipe had lifted the gate into the arena and ran between him and the killing blow.

_No!_

The fight never should have happened. Sunstreaker never stood a chance, did he? Not against Megatron.

But he didn’t get to say yes or no to who he fought. 

It was the folly of a greedy mech and it should have cost him his life. It should have cost _Sideswipe_ his life. 

Instead… Here they were. Still fighting.

“You represented everything that was _wrong_ with Cybertron,” Megatron said, with heat—just as he had spoken with _passion_ then when he had addressed the crowds, _fearless_ of their reaction.

When he had gone against every rule of the arenas and _not killed_ in a fight to the death. 

But Megatron had already been a _champion._ He’d fought his way to the top, bought his own freedom, he’d rallied together a rebellion—you didn’t tell that Megatron _what to do._

Especially not when he _believed_ in something. 

“Yeah, well, thanks for that.” He rather liked living, it was nice to get to continue to do that. Was the rumble of Megatron’s engine _amused_ now, though?

He could be imagining things. 

“You were a berserker,” Megatron said then, a heavy torrent of attacks forcing Sunstreaker to jump back once, twice, thrice, before he brought his sword up and put an _end_ to it. 

Because he could. He had the skill for it. The strength, even if that was lesser than Megatron’s. “I was.” He could turn the tables, go on the offensive—force Megatron to think his actions carefully, lest the smoldering blade struck him somewhere important. 

“I haven’t seen you _snap_ even once here on Earth.” But just the same, Megatron could flip that table right back around, and he did so, _violently._ Sunstreaker strafed to the side before he had his arm chopped off.

“I’ve gotten better.” Pits. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this. War, battles… War was messy. There were too many players and moving parts for it to be anything else. Guns, mines, missiles, bombs. Even once the frontline charged and clashed together in close combat—so many players. There was motion everywhere around you, dozens of targets and threats you needed to track at any given moment.

It was a desperate struggle for survival.

He loved it.

But this. To have just one to focus on and have their focus entirely on you, to _give your all_ against that singular opponent. It tested a slightly different skill set, for sure, but it felt like the _truer_ challenge, cleaner—a true test of your _artistry._

Or maybe that was just the gladiator in him talking. He was _that_ before he was a soldier… Always would be.

“Is it something to get _better_ from?”

_What..?_

Surprise, that damned thing. It should never take a hold of you when every fraction of a second counted.

But like he was a damned _rookie,_ Sunstreaker faltered from the unexpected, and paid for it. Megatron could have cut his helm off in that moment, or impaled him somewhere painful, but he… Didn’t. Oh, he used Sunstreaker’s momentary distraction, but only to slam his arm to the side of his helmet—and Megatron was big, as were his arms. The strength and momentum of that one strike were well enough to send Sunstreaker flying into the ground, landing heavily and without finesse.

His grunt was a quiet thing, and his mind—reeling for a moment too long. Megatron’s pede landed on his chassis, he snatched his sword from his grip, and just like that, it was _over._

And Sunstreaker had lost, again, due to a _stupid_ mistake he should have had all the experience to avoid. 

“A-a-aa,” Megatron tutted when Sideswipe tried to break from Soundwave and come to Sunstreaker’s aid, as he always would. Instead of being allowed to do that this time, instead of being allowed to _change_ the course of things… Megatron’s fusion cannon came to life, aiming at Sunstreaker’s helm.

Sideswipe took the threat for what it was and stopped, glaring at Megatron. Soundwave followed a step behind him, and just like that they continued their scuffle, although this time their goals did _not_ align.

With Sideswipe distracted by his Third, Megatron shifted his attention back to Sunstreaker. The cannon… Moved away, died down.

Huh. Apparently he wasn’t going to get shot today. Fancy that.

“If you’re not going to _kill_ me, what the slag do you want?” Sunstreaker growled, digging his digits into Megatron’s ankle, but it did him no good. The pede stayed right where it was, pinning him into the ground with enough force to test the strength of his armor. 

He might’ve asked, but Sunstreaker… Had an inkling already.

And if he was _right…_

Primus. He didn’t want to show it, and he didn’t know if Soundwave informed Megatron of it, but his spark was fragging _fluttering_ from what wasn’t anything other than hopeful _excitement._ His field he kept to himself, but it would’ve been a sickening thing of _heat_ and _anticipation._

His ventilations ran hot, but that could just be because of the fight.

_Yeah right._

But he snarled at Megatron, engine revving in fruitless threat. What threat was he? Oh, he was a _threat_ just by existing. He hadn’t lost because he couldn’t take it anymore, he had lost because of a mistake he wouldn’t _repeat_ —Megatron would have to defend himself all over again, it was just a matter of _time._

Unfortunately, while waiting for that moment the tyrant did have him in a rather precarious situation. Sideswipe went down with some angry cursing too, and Soundwave pinned him there _very_ thoroughly.

He could watch, but it was clear the Decepticons on the scene didn’t plan on letting him be an _interruption_ to whatever it was Megatron wanted.

And it would still be a while before anyone on the Ark would notice they weren’t checking in as they were supposed to.

In short: no one would save him this time.

A smelting puff of air escaped his vents at the thought. His digits on Megatron’s pede tightened, but he glowered up at the tyrant towering over him.

Tall, imposing, and _powerful._

Primus help him.

Megatron raised an optical ridge at him. “Do you not know already?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“I’m sure one of them is correct.”

Bastard was fragging _teasing_ him. Sunstreaker growled in earnest, but Megatron merely crouched, removing his pede from his chassis only to grab him by the throat instead.

And Vector Sigma but the hold was _tight._ Sunstreaker’s servos grabbed at Megatron’s wrist, but he could tug and claw it all he wanted, twist and buck with all his might—Megatron didn’t even bother to react to his struggles.

By the Thirteen, he was going to lose his _mind_ at this rate. 

His engine was roaring, definitely out of anger and not… _Anything else,_ but when he’d thought it was going to throttle itself out–

_Megatron reached between his legs and cupped his scorching panel–_

And his engine reached a whole new level he wasn’t sure it had ever visited before. Sunstreaker stared at the blue blue sky far above with its occasional puffy white cloud, trying not to pay too much attention to the red optics focused on him and just him. 

He was going to fragging die, and Megatron was going to be the cause of it.

“Want it, hm?” the tyrant asked, his claws digging into the seams of his interface panel.

Sunstreaker found the state of mind to growl, and even managed a _glare_ at his assailant despite the static dancing in his vision. _“Go to hell.”_

Megatron ignored him. “Open.”

_No one to save him._

Sideswipe was looking, struggling against Soundwave’s hold the same Sunstreaker was struggling against Megatron, but it got neither of them anywhere.

So utterly _helpless…_

Because they were so severely outclassed. Maybe not by Soundwave, but definitely by Megatron. The leader of the Decepticons, one who’d managed to keep his position for a very good reason despite the many rumored attempts to overthrow him–

He was holding Sunstreaker down, his claws painful where they pressed into the sensitive paneling, demanding.

Not asking.

_Demanding._

His vents were blown wide but even that wasn’t enough to cool him. 

“Do you want me to tear this off? That’ll be quite something to explain, won’t it?” Megatron asked casually, and Sunstreaker… Considered it. 

“Bastard,” he snarled, bucking away from Megatron’s hold—definitely not into it—but it did nothing to dislodge the claws hooked into the covering protecting his array.

And he considered it.

Those marks alone would be difficult to explain, but at least they were something he and Sideswipe could try to get rid of on their own.

There wouldn’t be much they could do about an entirely missing cover, damaged in the process of its removal. That would lead to questions, ones he’d _really_ rather not answer.

Sunstreaker grit his denta, glared harder, but sent the command to retract his valve cover.

Megatron’s digits dipped into his valve instantly and this time he couldn’t keep his frame from jerking _into_ the penetration. He had to bite back a groan.

“Soaked,” the tyrant noted after he fetched his digits. Lubricant was dripping down them liberally, and that was nothing compared to the pool his valve was leaking onto the ground between his legs.

Legs that Megatron forcibly spread, despite Sunstreaker’s attempt at _kicking_ him. It did him no more good than anything else he’d done so far had. Megatron pressed on his throat harder, practically digging his frame into the dirt, and he should’ve hated it. _Did_ hate the grime that was digging into the gaps of his armor.

That’d be hell to clean later.

But his core _ached._ The temperature of his frame kept on rising despite the best attempts of his fans and vents, and Megatron was between his goddamn _legs…_

A click. Sunstreaker couldn’t look, not with Megatron’s hold of him, but oh, _Sideswipe_ could, and Sunstreaker trembled at the things he saw.

 _He would love this,_ Sideswipe informed him. 

Sunstreaker had few doubts about that.

Megatron’s digits returned to his valve, shoving inside and scissoring—stretching him, _prepping him,_ and Sunstreaker _writhed._ This time he couldn’t contain his strangled groan, his valve rippling around the invading claws despite himself. He was panting, hard, and Pits but Megatron had barely even _started_ yet. 

Death by overheating, that was his future. 

He cursed, rather loudly so, when Megatron removed his digits again. This time the rumble of the tyrant’s engine was definitely amused, but before Sunstreaker could take offense with that, something _big_ nosed up against his valve entrance.

...But didn’t enter.

He was going to _glitch._

“Do you want me to put it in?”

It took him an embarrassing amount of time to gather his thoughts enough to snap a sharp, “Frag _no,”_ complete with an angry growl from his engine.

Megatron didn’t take heed. “Mmm, your body disagrees,” was all he said, brushing his damned spike against his valve again, but not going _in._

And Sunstreaker’s self control was quickly unraveling. That only angered him further, and Sideswipe’s amusement didn’t help matters any—but what the pit was Megatron waiting for?

For him to say yes? Tell him to put it in? _Beg for it?_

Hell no. He’d rust before he did _any_ of that. 

Or rather, redlined his systems from frustration.

“My body’s _mistaken,”_ Sunstreaker nevertheless found the strength to snarl, bucking—to fight against Megatron’s grip, of course, and _not_ to force the spike into his valve already.

But Megatron pulled back just enough to keep that from happening. Sunstreaker’s engine revved and he had to bite his glossa to keep himself from just _screaming._

Sideswipe was chortling to himself.

“I’m not _convinced,”_ Megatron growled too this time, and then–

Then, in one thrust of his hips, he’d driven his spike into his valve, _all the way,_ until it rammed against his ceiling node.

And _now_ Sunstreaker screamed. His frame arched out of his control, overload—just from _that—_ tensing him from helm to pede to a painful degree. He ground his denta together, twice as hard when Megatron began to _move_ through the crest of his climax, extending it, turning his vision into a bloom of static.

He couldn’t but _feel,_ the strength in Megatron’s frame that he effortlessly translated into fucking him _hard._ Hard as he fought, and just as violent, he drove into Sunstreaker’s frame without a shred of mercy, rutting him into the goddamn ground until he ached. Every thrust in split him wide, filled him to the brim—opened him up like only someone of Megatron’s size and _demeanor_ even could. 

He’d never enjoyed interfacing with Optimus, despite the Prime’s titillating size. He was too kind, too gentle, too worried about his partner’s comfort.

Megatron was the black _opposite._ He didn’t give a fuck about Sunstreaker’s _anything_ outside of how he could best use his frame to derive his own pleasure from it. Or so it felt like. Hell, maybe this _was_ Megatron’s way of making sure Sunstreaker’s needs were seen to as well, because his lines sang with charge until not one thought shot straight. 

He hadn’t been fucked like this since the Pits. He’d almost forgotten what _real_ interfacing was like.

This was real. His frame made good of what limited freedom of motion it had to rock into Megatron’s thrusts, driving their arrays together ever harder until he was sure something was going to dent. Megatron seemed intent on exiling all lucid thinking with the way he pulled out almost all the way before pushing in a single smooth motion that wreaked havoc on his sensors, fast and hard and _faster_ and _harder._

Considering the way Sunstreaker’s thoughts scattered to the four winds, he was doing a very good job of that.

Sunstreaker couldn’t stand it. Pinned to the ground and utterly marauded, the charge in his systems rapidly climbed higher until _peaked,_ again. 

And then he came crashing down, screaming anew at the strength of the overload that pulled every cable tight, arching his frame against Megatron’s.

His valve tightened and rippled around the intrusion, and after three more jerking thrusts against him, Megatron _rumbled,_ tensed, and heat bloomed at the end of his valve. The charge from Megatron’s release jumped into his frame and drove him over the edge into yet another overload of his own until his vocalizer spat fitful static.

Sunstreaker slumped into the ground in the aftermath, his extremities shaking, vents pulling in all the cool air they could.

It wasn’t enough.

He was given a moment. Megatron took a moment. Both their frames were cycling air desperately—or maybe Sunstreaker just wanted to believe Megatron was even halfway as affected as he was—slowly making their way down from the summits of physical rapture.

The tyrant pulled out soon enough though, leaving Sunstreaker’s valve an abused, gaping _pit._ A veritable flood of fluids followed his retreat, too, lubricant and transfluid mingling together into a holy mess.

And Sunstreaker…

Sunstreaker snarled. “You son of a bitch–”

But he didn’t get further than that before Megatron caught him by the jaw, silencing him. The tyrant was staring down at him with baleful optics, and a small portion of Sunstreaker wondered if the warlord wasn’t going to kill him _now,_ after having had his fun. 

If that was the case, his corpse would tell a story he did _not_ want told.

But Megatron didn’t immediately remove his helm from his shoulders. “You will say,” he started instead, glancing briefly but _meaningfully_ at Sideswipe before his optics returned to Sunstreaker, “that you ran into a small number of my troops. A battle ensued, and you drove them away, but not without damage to yourselves.” 

Sunstreaker’s optics flicked to Sideswipe as the jam on their comm. systems was lifted. Sideswipe stared back at him for a second before opening a comm. line to Ark. “Sideswipe to Ark,” he said, outloud as well as over the link. “Hi Jazz! Yeah, sorry for not checking in, buuuut we actually found something. I think.

“We ran into a few of the Constructicons and a couple of Seekers at these coordinates. No clue what they were after ‘cause this is the ass end of fragging _nowhere_ if I do say so myself, but me’n Sunny fought ‘em off. Sustained some injuries, Sunny especially, but we’re fine.”

A pause as Sideswipe listened to Jazz’s response. Sunstreaker had no doubt Soundwave was listening in on that side of the conversation too.

“Yeah, sure, we’ll have a look around. I’ll call ya back if we come across anything, else we’ll wait until Grapple and co get here. Sideswipe out.”

Sideswipe cut the call and looked at Megatron. The tyrant nodded his approval at him before Sunstreaker became the target of his attention once more. The grip on his jaw tightened a fraction before Megatron pulled him _up_ and _leaned down_ himself–

His helm tilted, their lips touched.

Sunstreaker’s optics blew wide and he could hear the shocked stutter of Sideswipe’s engine.

It was a brief thing, but not without fire—rough, just like the rest of Megatron. _Intense_ in the way the warlord’s lips pressed hard against his own.

Then it was over. Megatron released him and Sunstreaker barely caught himself with his arms before he would’ve fallen back down. In one fluid motion Megatron rose to his pedes, retracting his equipment as he went and closing his spike behind its panel, towering above Sunstreaker.

Soundwave got up too, releasing Sideswipe.

Neither twin tried to get up just yet.

“Think about what I said, Sunstreaker. Until _next_ time,” Megatron said with intent before he walked over to his Third. Soundwave transformed onto the tyrant’s palm, then Megatron transformed into his jet mode around Soundwave. A wave of displaced air washed over the twins as the Decepticons left the scene.

They listened to the retreating sound of Megatron’s thrusters until it was gone and silence fell back onto the area. _True_ silence, not even the critters of the forest making sound after the amount of disturbances in the area. There was nothing but the rustle of wind in the leaves.

And disbelief.

“…So…” Sideswipe eventually spoke up, getting onto his hands and knees and crawling over to Sunstreaker, inspecting the damage on his frame and the… Mess at his crotch. “…That just happened.”

That it did. Sunstreaker nodded slowly, trying to sort his thoughts into some semblance of order, but… He’d probably be working at that for a while still.

“We should… We should probably make things a little less, uh… Incriminating,” Sideswipe continued, glancing around. There were signs of fighting around them, but they should probably add to them after lying about the amount of mecha present. Plus some marks of gunfire maybe.

And… Clean Sunstreaker.

And do something about the puddle he was sitting in.

…And the paint transfers.

Sunstreaker nodded again and reached into his subspace to begin the process. They'd want to be done with all that before their comrades arrived, after all.


	6. Deceit and Lies

“Why he slag didn’t you call for backup?!”

Sunstreaker snarled. “The fragging comms were jammed! How the pit were we supposed to do that?!”

 _“Back out of the_ jammed area, report the disturbance, and see what orders you’re given,” Ratchet snarled right back, clanging him on the helm with the butt of his welder. 

And okay, that was one way to handle the situation, with just the one minor complication that _they hadn’t wanted to._

Or Sunstreaker hadn’t. Sideswipe didn’t bother himself with too many opinions as long as Sunstreaker remained satisfied with the whole situation.

And oh, he was _very_ satisfied. 

But no one else needed to know it was about anything more than a battle well won—and not one _gloriously_ lost. 

“We could handle it,” Sunstreaker still argued with a roll of his optics. And according to their lie, they _had._ So what was the problem?

He didn’t get to hear Ratchet’s opinion on that because the medbay doors opened then to admit Prowl and Optimus, interrupting Ratchet. The medic, along with the twins, glanced at the arrivees, before Ratchet dismissed them with a _hmph_ and set back to work on Sunstreaker.

Ratchet never did like to be interrupted when he was busy yelling at his patients. Especially if those patients were the twins. They deserved _all_ the yelling they could get.

Sunstreaker took it as the short lived reprieve it was, though. “Did Grapple find anything?” Sideswipe asked, doubling down on their lie with his natural curiosity. “Or is that classified?”

“No, Grapple did not find anything to suggest why the Decepticons were interested in that area,” Prowl responded with an irritable flick of his wings, although for once it likely wasn’t aimed at them and instead at just the entire situation. Not having all the variables didn’t suit him. “It could be they were simply scouting for something that wasn’t there after all.”

“No matter their reasons, good work on hindering their efforts,” Optimus said with a nod at the brothers. Sideswipe nodded back, Sunstreaker just huffed.

“Did you expect anything less?” he sneered. Ratchet whacked him again, probably for disrespecting their mighty leader this time.

Sunstreaker’s digits twitched, but he knew better than to _whack_ Ratchet back. That was a surefire way to get welded to the berth.

He had to content himself to just some offended growling that Ratchet paid absolutely no mind to. 

Optimus didn’t take the bait, though, only gave Sunstreaker a _look_ that would never ever accomplish a damn thing. 

_“Regardless,_ I would like your reports as soon as possible,” said Prowl, and right there was a third mech who didn’t appreciate his attitude with Optimus. Well, tough luck, because the Prime wasn’t exactly demanding better treatment. He’d just have to _deal._ “Will you be able to compose them during your repairs and return them to my office after Ratchet releases you?”

“Sure,” Sideswipe agreed. Would this mean less abuse from Ratchet? See, they’d need to be able to _focus_ on writing their reports, it wouldn’t do if they were constantly distracted by one irascible medic. Right?

He could hope. “Good,” Prowl nodded, and after _get well soon_ wishes from Optimus, the two headed out of the medbay.

“We will need to run patrols with increased frequency in the area, just to be–“ Sunstreaker could hear Prowl continue to Optimus.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he said, sitting up straight. Optimus and Prowl paused on their exit and looked back at him, Optimus with some level of surprise, Prowl with exasperation.

No doubt the tactician already had an inkling of what Sunstreaker wanted to complain about. He proceeded to do that without delays. “I am _not_ driving any more patrols on those god forsaken excuses for roads,” he snarled, jabbing a digit at Prowl. “Two more patrols, then we’re done with our punishment duty, right? I’ll go on a fucking _strike_ if we’re scheduled on any more patrols there after that!”

Sideswipe was snickering, but his brother wasn’t in too much of a disagreement with him. Let the likes of Hound take those routes, they had the fragging alt-modes for it!

“Your preference has been noted,” Prowl said dryly, and Sunstreaker didn’t hold out for hope that Prowl _wouldn’t_ schedule them there if he saw it necessary. That was the downside of being some of the best the Autobots had to offer. If their skills were needed somewhere, there weren’t too many who could fill in for them.

And then they’d just end up doing shit they’d rather not have, like driving on dirt roads that all but wrecked their frames. 

Now Prowl and Optimus left for real, leaving Sunstreaker to brood and Sideswipe to kick his legs while he waited for his turn to be fixed. They’d need to make their reports convincing, somehow. Choreograph an entire fight that didn’t happen, between mecha that had never been present—make it hold together with the scene left behind and their own injuries.

They had their work cut out for them. At least they wouldn’t have trouble keeping their reports matching up, a small mercy. _Twins_ and all that.

* * *

They’d been in a _few_ battles during the course of their lives. That came in handy when fabricating the details of their story. Ratchet left them to it, mostly, fixing them in the relative silence of just the medic’s aggravated grumbling and the occasional order to move this way or that or do this or do that. 

On their way from the medbay they delivered their reports—one from each frame’s perspective—to Prowl’s office. The SIC nodded his thanks before sending them back on their way. They fetched their ratios and sat in the rec room while they drank them, where Sideswipe shared some words and laughter with Bumblebee and Windcharger.

Sunstreaker let it all wash over him, struggling to keep his thoughts from traveling down paths that would have damned him if anyone became privy to them.

Thank Primus the Autobots had no telepaths in their ranks. He’d be doomed otherwise.

But he was rarely particularly involved in social situations. It was doubtful anyone noticed he was more _distracted_ than usual. 

They didn’t linger in the rec room very long after finishing their cubes. It wasn’t just Sunstreaker that was suffering from the state of his processors—Sideswipe felt the same need to sort their goddamn thoughts out. They slipped through the halls and into their quarters without interruptions, out of sight, hopefully out of mind, too, for long enough that they could work all of this out in peace.

Together they sat down on the bottom bunk of their berth, then… Silence.

They didn’t dare say a thing out loud. This was one secret they did _not_ want getting out, not even— _especially not_ —by accident. There was no one to overhear them, but that didn’t matter.

Say not a thing.

Not like they needed to, anyway. They functioned on the same wavelength, spark bound as they were. His thoughts were Sideswipe’s, Sideswipe’s thoughts were his. The transition was smooth, seamless—silent and untraceable. 

Just what they needed.

 _Sunstreaker_ was the driving force behind all of _this,_ though. It wasn’t _his_ life, it was _their_ life, but it was a give and take, push and pull. This time, Sideswipe gave, letting Sunstreaker direct the course of their actions according to his… Conclusions.

Whatever those might turn out to be.

‘Think about what I said.’

 _Which part?_ Megatron had said more than a few things, from recounting their ill fated fight a long time ago, to making fun of his frame’s reactions _that absolutely had nothing to do with Sunstreaker’s genuine desires,_ absolutely not.

Ugh.

Sideswipe shifted, and offered a thought.

_‘I’ve gotten better.’_

_‘Is it something to get_ better _from?’_

...Was that it?

If it was, what the pit did Megatron want him to _do_ with that thought? He had been a berserker—still was, technically. The damage had gone nowhere, but… He hadn’t _snapped_ in a long time. 

Wasn’t that the _goal?_ Oh, they had valued the likes of him in the _Pits_ thanks to the unhinged violence they could unleash, but was that anything to _actually_ desire? The Autobots had gone out of their way to give him back _control_ over his own frame and mind, to reduce the instances where he _lost it_ and… Became a danger to anything and everything. 

How could something like that be _desirable?_

What did Megatron think?

 _Why was he thinking about what Megatron thought?_ So the mech had beat him in a fight again, wow, and decided to frag him afterwards, _wow,_ but what did that change? They were on the opposite sides of the war for Primus’ sake, that little fact had gone absolutely nowhere. He shouldn’t give a frag about any of Megatron’s thoughts, especially not after the tyrant had decidedly _not_ asked his permission to fuck him. He’d just swooped along, turned him the slag on, and done the deed.

And… Sunstreaker found himself decidedly _not_ opposed to that. He should be! Not only because Megatron had _technically_ forced him, but because he had technically gotten forced by the _enemy leader_ that he should, under all circumstances, want to kill in the name of putting an end to the war in favor of the side he belonged to. 

But here he was, post-fuck… Still enjoying the afterglow of some fragging awesome overloads, and… Not opposed to the idea of _next_ time.

As Megatron had threatened.

_Promised._

Oh by the Thirteen he was _screwed._ Literally as well as figuratively. What were his options? Even if he swallowed his pride and reported the _r-word_ —which he was never going to be able to do, he had too much of it—all they’d need was to have a look at his memory files and see how… He couldn’t even say he was _conflicted._ If he had been, then good, but no.

If he was honest with himself, the part of him that wasn’t anticipating the next time with much eagerness was _pathetic._ He was a bad, _bad_ Autobot, remember? He didn’t give too many fucks about the fact he was obliterating the Autobot code even more thoroughly than he had so far in his career as a soldier. He didn’t _care._ Why would he have? He wouldn’t have gained a whole lot by following the damn thing to the letter, even if he’d been so inclined.

So it didn’t particularly _matter_ to him, on a personal, emotional level, that he was getting fragged by the enemy and fucking enjoying it. 

And if they had a look into his head… They’d see that.

But if he didn’t care about the whole thing on a personal level, he did care about the consequences he would have faced if his _comrades_ found out about this whole thing. It would end badly for him. Very badly. He didn’t even know how badly, but how the hell were you supposed to interface with _Megatron, like it, want for the next time,_ and not end up too deep in trouble with your own side to ever surface again?

No. No, he couldn’t afford this to ever come to light. Even on the off chance they’d somehow ignore his own excitement over it to focus just on what Megatron had done… No.

How the pit were they supposed to keep it a secret if it was just going to _repeat,_ though? This time had been difficult enough. They’d done their best, given a story as believable as they could, made no mention of Megatron, not even a suggestion that he had been present to do what he had–

But because they’d lied, no matter how good they were at it, you could shoot holes into their story. The environment wouldn’t necessarily entirely agree with what they had said, if someone went to have a real good look at it. 

And what of their injuries? Sword marks. Those weren’t that usual here on Earth. They’d added their fair share of gunshot marks—and frankly, that had hurt—but Ratchet wasn’t dumb. He’d _fixed_ those sword marks, the cuts of a sharp blade. He knew where they’d come from.

He hadn’t questioned it, why any of the Constructicons or a Seeker would have had a sword with them and the skill to wield it efficiently enough to be a match to Sunstreaker, but had he wondered about it? Sunstreaker didn’t doubt that very much. 

What had he come up with as an explanation for it, in the absence of anything the twins would have directly told him?

Primus, what a mess. But as long as he didn’t _ask,_ they didn’t need to answer. Besides, what were the odds Ratchet would start to suspect _that?_ They’d fixed the area around his cover before anyone else had gotten to the scene, removed the traces of interface from him—the evidence of _who_ he had interfaced with. 

But if he grew suspicious… The future times would become even more problematic.

What could they do but worry about that when the time came, though?

Was that his conclusion? It was.

Sideswipe nodded at him before he _stretched_ from having sat in the same position for who knew how long by now.

Then he got one of his brother’s trademark grins, bright and full of mischief. “Want my help touchin’ up your paint before I go see if ‘Hide or Jazz would be down for a tumble?”

Yeah, him and Megatron had been something to look at, hadn’t they? Not too much of a surprise Sideswipe would have some charge to burn.

Sunstreaker gave a wry smile of his own. “You bet.”


	7. Dim Days

Surprisingly, Prowl did not put them on the worst patrols after they’d filled their punishment. The patrols he sent to the area where they’d ran into the Decepticons were larger for caution, and maybe for that reason he didn’t see it necessary to send either twin along.

They were grateful, mighty grateful, and Sideswipe didn’t forget to holler a thanks to the tactician when they saw him on the other end of a hallway. Prowl looked surprised, but as they were running from Ratchet at that moment… There wasn’t really the time to hang around and enjoy the reaction.

They escaped the Ark before Ratchet caught them, too, and on the roads there was nothing the ambulance could do against two Lamborghinis. But of course, they had to return to the Ark eventually, although not before ignoring several calls from Ratchet, Prowl, and even a couple from Optimus. Everyone just wanted them to face the music.

And they did, sad as that was. Doing inventory under the watchful eye of Ratchet, that was their fate.

They were good at it as always, but it was so mind numbingly _boring_ that Sideswipe nearly keeled over during the process. Sunstreaker only fared a little bit better, yearning back in front of his canvases the whole time.

That feel when you really just wanted to paint, but couldn’t for whatever reason? Fucking worst.

At least inventory was no damage to their finishes. Ratchet on the other hand… There came to be a few dents on the both of them thanks to one of them burning the medic’s short patience with whatever they did. Fooling around, running their mouths, being distractions and general menaces.

They did that every time, but yet they kept getting assigned to this when they were naughty. Either Prowl pulled rank on Ratchet, or Ratchet didn’t hate their company as much as he said he did. Or a combination of both.

It did mean they were too busy for certain other duties, such as patrols. That, and when they did go on them, they were blessedly kept to _paved_ routes.

Was it blessedly? _Paved_ meant _not in the ass end of nowhere._

And _not in the ass end of nowhere_ meant Megatron couldn’t make an appearance without it being obvious to half of the world. 

Primus, why was he disappointed over that? And why did he think Megatron would really care about their illicit little affair being discovered? Who could tell Megatron to stop, or that he wasn’t allowed to do it? Optimus, at most, and even that would be more of an _attempt_ instead of a surefire success. 

But… Megatron had told them to lie, satisfied when they made no mention of him. Did that suggest he wanted to keep the whole thing under wraps too? For whose benefit? Sunstreaker’s? Probably not.

For the sake of being allowed to _continue?_ That seemed more likely. If the Autobots found out… At best they’d try to _protect_ Sunstreaker, and at worst they’d court martial him and who knew how that would end. Both would hinder Megatron’s access to him.

He should want that! He shouldn’t want Megatron’s attention.

But he did, and there was no convincing himself otherwise—or really even the _motivation_ to try to change his mind. 

So Megatron didn’t really get chances for another meeting, at least not any he would’ve taken. He had to have his ways of finding out when a window like that opened; he’d done so spectacularly last time. Probably thanks to Soundwave.

He didn’t want the quiet to get to him, but it did.

Then, another day just as any other was interrupted as the alarms sounded once again. The Decepticons were on the move.

Eager for battle, he was, but… Maybe eager for some other things too. He didn’t know what he expected to happen, really, but chances were Megatron would be present as well. And beyond bashing some ‘Con helms in, _that_ was what he cared about.

Yeah, the Autobots would have his goddamn spark if they knew.

The ride to the battle site saw him even more _antsy_ than usual before fights, but if the others in Skyfire’s hold took notice of it, they didn’t say anything. Well, besides Sideswipe, who kept laughing at him nonstop— _internally._ Externally his twin was smiling, but it was the vague smile that was his resting face—directed at nothing in particular, expressing nothing in particular. 

Just _a smile._

 _Finally_ Skyfire touched down near the location the Decepticons were ransacking this time. Sunstreaker was the first out, followed right after by Sideswipe and Ironhide, who was berating them for their overeagerness.

Sunstreaker let it in through one audial, and out the other. He had more… Pressing concerns on his mind. 

Namely, locating Megatron. And if he was even more foolhardy than usual, running _straight_ into enemy fire, well… Then he was even more foolhardy than usual. Sideswipe had his back anyway. They’d be _fine._

Prowl disagreed with that assessment something fierce. His orders fell on deaf audials until Sunstreaker could just imagine the tactician’s scream of frustration that he had far too much control to actually release.

But it happened sometimes, that the twins got so caught up in their bloodlust that there was no stopping them. No one needed to know some other kind of lust might be in play too, this time. 

There was a battle happening too though, that was a thing. That involved a lot of mecha very intent on grievously injuring them, so Sunstreaker couldn’t let himself become _so_ distracted that he’d let something embarrassing happen. He was _better_ than that, anyway.

Sideswipe remained as a steady reality check though. Sunstreaker could let his own thoughts wander a bit more as long as he remained within Sideswipe’s sight and could trust his brother to direct him. He doubted it looked any different from the usual suicidal charges they performed when the mood struck them. The Decepticons were suffering, losing blood and body parts to their vicious rampage.

They might’ve as well closed their comms entirely for how much they were paying attention to those. It was just _them_ and the _enemy,_ just as it had been back on Cybertron during the far, far larger battles—when they’d still fought with the kind of abandon the Autobots had desperately tried to root out of them.

Considering they didn’t fight like that, _this,_ all the time anymore… They’d been somewhat successful.

But this felt right. It felt like true survival, the kind that did _anything_ for the sake of winning. Nothing got in its way, nothing held it back— _let loose,_ do what you wanted in all of its _bloody_ glory. 

...But not _all_ the way. 

_Should he?_

Why not?

Why would he?

_Did he want to?_

Then, Megatron. Sunstreaker didn’t turn his optics away from the Seeker whose name he’d never learn, impaled on his sword, but he could _see_ him at the edge of his field of view. 

However, he couldn’t feel Megatron’s heavy gaze on him, and once he’d pushed the stuttering, bleeding, _in pain_ flier off his weapon, he did glance that way to see Megatron was… Distracted. Speaking with Starscream, both of them gesturing angrily.

Sunstreaker scowled. The offense rose before he had the chance to rationalize it away, and then he didn’t want to get rid of it anymore. It was a _righteous_ feeling, wasn’t it? Since when had anyone dared put Sunstreaker in second place, especially after one screechy Seeker?

That happened to be the SIC of the enemy army and probably had quite a bit to do with everything the Decepticons did, but pssh. Who cared about little details like that when the other option was _Sunstreaker?_

Sideswipe was _rolling on the floor laughing_ in their spark, and grinning like a lunatic even on the outside—though it was very easy to think that was because he was tearing the wings off… Eh, whatever their name was. It would be just like Sideswipe to laugh his way through delivering the kind of damage that would have good little Autobots cringing. 

They weren’t good little Autobots.

That in mind, what should he do? Go up there against every order ever given to him and demand Megatron’s attention?

Very tempting. Megatron owed him that much after what had transpired.

He’d almost made his mind on that when there was another thing in motion through the battlefield. _Optimus,_ who else, was running straight for Megatron, likely very intent on putting an end to whatever was Megatron’s scheme this time—and to his conversation with Starscream on the same go.

And getting in the way of what _Sunstreaker_ wanted to do.

His scowl morphed into a straight up snarl that twisted his features into a familiar set of _anger._ Slag Optimus! Slag him and his fragging _obsession_ with Megatron. Couldn’t he for once focus on the troops and leave _Megatron_ alone? There were other mecha who wanted a piece of him too, for frag’s sake. 

::SUNSTREAKER! SIDESWIPE!:: Sideswipe glanced at him when Sunstreaker finally deigned to listen to Prowl’s demands for their attention. He _could_ still have a go at Megatron, but what could he accomplish with Optimus present? He _could_ continue slagging the ‘Cons around him according to his own whims too–

But he really had no reason not to at least hear out what Prowl had to say.

::Yeah?:: Sideswipe asked with a voice oh so innocent, as if Prowl hadn’t been yelling at them for the better part of a breem. Maybe. Or maybe longer. Sunstreaker really had no idea.

::What the Pit is it with you two–:: Ironhide chimed in, sounding absolutely _furious,_ but Prowl cut him off.

 _::Get Starscream!::_ Short and sweet with very loose ends. Which was really only Sunstreaker was willing to even entertain in his current mood, and Prowl likely knew as much even if he undoubtedly would’ve _loved_ to have a bit more say in how they dealt with the Air Commander.

Sideswipe shrugged at him before they disengaged from the main fight and ran after Optimus. Megatron had abandoned his argument with Starscream in favor of sneering at the Prime, and Starscream…

Had noticed their approach and narrowed his optics at them.

Then he took to the air.

If he wanted to play it like that…

Sideswipe mounted his jetpack between two steps.

* * *

“–Your rampant _disobedience_ –” Yada yada yada. Prowl was mad, Ironhide was _mad,_ Optimus was giving them that _I’m very disappointed in you_ look, and everyone else riding in Skyfire just looked awkward while watching the tactician and weapons specialist take turns yelling at the twins.

Sunstreaker had heard maybe three percent of it, only occasionally tuning in to see if it was about to come to its end.

Hadn’t so far and they were almost back at the Ark already. Sunstreaker scowled and stared straight ahead, ignoring the two mechs standing in front of him. Did they know he wasn’t paying any attention? Who cared.

Sideswipe was doing no better, glancing between Prowl and Ironhide according to whoever was talking at the time, but his twin had no more of a clue about what was said than Sunstreaker did. Sideswipe was too damn busy cackling at him, _thoroughly_ amused by Sunstreaker’s utter lack of amusement. 

Megatron had barely looked his way! First there’d been Starscream, and then fragging _Optimus._ The two leaders had devolved into one of their one on one matches after the brothers had drawn Starscream from the immediate area. Otherwise it would’ve probably been a two on one fight, _if_ Starscream bothered to fight and didn’t just step back in the hopes that Optimus would manage to kill Megatron.

Who was next in line to take command if that happened? That’s right, Starscream. 

Would Optimus even kill Megatron, though? Sunstreaker wasn’t entirely sure with how fragging _soft sparked_ their _leader_ was. He still seemed to hold onto the idea of a peaceful solution to everything, nevermind that practically everyone else could see there would be no _peaceful_ solution.

Someone, several someones most likely, would need to die for the war to come to its end. The key players from one side or the other would need to be neutralized to disband the opposing side and usher in peace. 

Yeah, because Sunstreaker would know about things like that. He was _so_ known for his concern with ending the war.

But what the pit would he do if there was no war? And no _Pits,_ either? He was a fighter, born and bred. He wasn’t made for _peace._ The slag was he supposed to do if their species finally managed to sort themselves out?

Eh. Maybe he should first concern himself with the fact he was way fragging _unhappy_ with _not_ having gotten Megatron’s attention, even briefly. Not even some kind of an acknowledgment of what had happened. 

Here he was, a fragging _Autobot_ , slagging _pining_ after the enemy. 

_“–Are we clear?”_

Oh, was it ending now? “For sure, Prowl!” Sideswipe chirped.

Prowl narrowed his optics at them. Well, narrowed them even further. “What did I just say?”

Ah, quizzes. That’s what they needed. “No fucking idea!” Sideswipe announced proudly, earning several muted snickers and guffaws from around them. Ironhide glared at the lot of them and the already quiet noise died down, although there were several poorly hidden smiles around them.

Sunstreaker could _hear_ Prowl’s denta grind together. “Brig. Two months. And you will not step a _pede_ on the battlefield before you remember how to follow orders.”

Wait, _what?_

“You can’t keep us out of the fragging fight for that long!” Sunstreaker growled, standing up to tower over the Praxian. And Ironhide too, for that matter. The weapons specialist was bulkier than they were, but not _taller._

Unfortunately neither mech was the type to be the least bit intimidated by him.

“I can and I will,” Prowl said with a _frigid_ voice. “You will march yourselves to the brig the _moment_ Skyfire lands. Ironhide will train you after you’ve done your time.”

Two months in the brig, and no battles for however long after that, until their commanders were _satisfied_ with their ability to take orders? 

_Frag that!_

Sideswipe intercepted his fist before it had a chance to connect with Prowl’s face. The tactician borderline _glared_ at him, but didn’t so much as flinch. _“Three months.”_

Oh he was going to fucking give him reason to make that _six._


	8. Dance With the Devil

Well, they managed to escape Ironhide’s training for a bit.

Four damn months _straight_ in the brig.

And after that they expected them to be in any mood to follow orders. Jumping off the walls was the only thing they were doing. They’d sparred with each other, with Ironhide, and with some of the other warriors—beating up Cliffjumper in particular had been _intensely_ satisfying—which had burned off _some_ of their restless energy, but nowhere near enough that they would’ve given a single fuck about what they were told to.

Perform this attack, defend then, do that here and that there, and _by Primus stop attacking already!_

Ratchet had gotten a lot of guests, and had yelled much at everyone and no one in particular. Ironhide received some of that too, and the rumor had it Ratchet had even visited Prowl.

Probably to complain about the stupidity of doing what he had to the twins. They were high energy and temperamental, and that combined very badly with forced inactivity. The end results were… Explosive.

Ratchet knew that. He knew them better than most did, after fixing their frames and rooting around in their heads as much as he had. The medic had always done what he could do to fix and manage the damage their coding had endured and thus mitigated as much as could be mitigated of what their _behavioral issues_ were caused directly by warped programming. 

But a lot of it couldn’t be fixed, and a lot of it originated from the spark, not the processors. Even Ratchet could do nothing about that, at which point it became a game of dealing with the external factors that could cause them to flip some unpleasant switches.

Prowl should have known that too, and he probably did, but the methods to get them to _obey_ had always been scarce. They had little respect for rank, a lot of trust in their own ability to do things _better,_ and in general lacked a lot of the motivation to just _listen._ They didn’t doubt Prowl was one fantastic tactician and could no doubt turn the tides of any fight with his carefully placed orders, but…

Frag, it just _chafed_ to do what they were told. Plus it was _boring_ more often than not.

They were loose cannons, always had been. Point them at the enemy and hope for the best, that was really all you could do most of the time. Prowl had had more success in commanding them than really any of their previous superiors, but even his control was far from _perfect._

And it had failed entirely in the last battle. It wasn’t that surprising he’d try some drastic measures—by Autobot standards—to force their cooperation. Keep them from the battlefield if that’s what it took, extort them until they caved and _listened_ just for the chance to get to fight. 

How the Autobots intended to manage without them on the field, he didn’t know, but Prowl seemed confident they weren’t _necessary._ Useful, but not necessary.

Sunstreaker hoped they’d find out that _wasn’t_ the case. They couldn’t be so _irrelevant_ that the Autobots could do well without them. 

There had been two battles so far, though, and the word was that those had gone… Well enough.

But he’d seen the amount of injuries the combatants had returned with. Enough to signify a hard battle.

Would it have been easier if the twins were present? He liked to think so.

Even if that was the case, Prowl had clearly come to the conclusion the extra injuries were worth it if it meant forcing the twins into taking heed of the things he told them. Did that mean they were just that much more effective when they played according to Prowl’s plans?

Who the fuck knew.

But Ratchet had given his recommendation, and according to it the twins had gotten sent out on the single longest patrol route to get rid of some of their energy. They were under strict orders to _not speed,_ but everyone knew that for as long as the roads were asphalt, they would speed. The human speed limits were for _humans,_ not for beings in all ways superior to them, complete with reflexes and bodily controls that far surpassed anything the humans could manage.

Of course, the human authorities wouldn’t agree with that, but by the time they were climbing the mountain roads to far quieter areas, they'd run into no police cruisers that could’ve tried to chase them or otherwise signal their disapproval of the speeds they were going.

Sideswipe was blasting music and singing along as they drifted around bends in the road and rocketed the straight spans, the roar of their engines not quite enough to drown out his voice. Very pleasant voice. Sunstreaker didn’t mind listening to it. With the sounds of their frames, they would have never gotten to enjoy those of nature anyways, even if he’d been so inclined.

He could still enjoy the scenery. Well, sans color. But at the speeds they were going, they’d need to stop to kill time at some point anyway, lest they wanted to be done with the patrol route _way_ ahead of schedule and give away that they had definitely broken every single speed limit along the way. He could transform and have a look at the colors then. What would there be, green, green, and more _green..._

The jam fell upon them _fast,_ all thanks to the speed they were going. The music Sideswipe was streaming cut off as did their access to all external signals, all within the span of _seconds._

Why did he feel like they’d been here _before?_

They both screeched to a stop, reading their scanners, although nothing was showing up on them yet. What had Ratchet said to do if this happened? Back out of the jammed area and report it?

Sideswipe was waiting on him to decide what he wanted to do. On the chance this was due to what they thought it was…

They would continue. Even if it was something else, they could probably handle it without dying.

He could feel Sideswipe’s phantom nod before his brother set back in motion and they drove onward, not quite as fast as before.

Until… Two spark signatures showed up on their scanners.

Excitement surged in Sunstreaker’s spark even as his engine _growled._ Megatron’s signature was unmistakable, as strong as the mech himself.

And the other one was none other than Soundwave, again. What was he, his leader’s wingman on top of everything else? _Must be nice._

Once they made it to a valley between two mountain peaks… The trees were more sparse here, giving room for their kind to maneuver. The two signatures on their scanners stayed put through their approach, until they could make visual contact with the Decepticons.

Sideswipe felt considerably less wary than the last time now that they had different expectations of how this might go down. And Sunstreaker? If he’d anticipated last time, that was nothing compared to the _pissed off_ expectation of this time. Oh, he hadn’t forgotten how Megatron had flat out _ignored_ him the last battle they were allowed to attend. 

They transformed a good distance away from the other two mechs. Soundwave was standing off to the side again, but Megatron was blocking the entire road, and they weren’t exactly built for off-roading. Even if they’d wanted to get by, they’d had to have gone through _him._

Not that Sunstreaker particularly wanted to get through. “You have some fragging _guts,”_ he hissed at Megatron instead, throwing all caution out the window and stalking towards the tyrant. This time he didn’t bother hiding his field, because the anger in it was very, very real, and worked well to drown out his other emotions. “What, just gonna show up when it suits you?”

Sideswipe hung back, his laughter echoing in their spark. He didn’t bother hiding his field either, and it was full of _mirth_ for all the world to teek. 

Yeah yeah, laugh it up, this was _so_ much fun. 

_Fragger._

“Was I supposed to do something else?” Megatron asked, cocking an optical ridge at him. Sunstreaker snarled and lunged the last few feet, hooking his digits into a gap in Megatron’s armor and _wrenching._

Megatron growled right back at him, but Sunstreaker dodged the fist that was flung at him—only to get clawed by Megatron’s other servo.

“I haven’t seen you in battles recently,” the warlord noted, and for the life of him Sunstreaker couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or entertained.

Sunstreaker was annoyed, though. More than, he was fragging _furious,_ and let that sound in his voice when he responded, “Oh I’m fragging surprised you’d even _notice.”_

Megatron gave him a _look,_ but what the emotion behind it was was no clearer. “Is this about the last battle you attended?”

_Yes._

Sunstreaker grunted noncommittally, then from pain when Megatron tore him off his pedes and sent him crashing into the ground. He managed to scramble back on his feet before the tyrant could pin him this time, though, and charged right back at the larger mech like it wasn’t one of the most foolish things any Cybertronian could do.

“You do realize I don’t _owe_ you anything?” Megatron asked next. Sunstreaker glared up at him between one attack and the next, his face twisting into a snarl he’d never manage to make look anything other than pretty. Ah, the curse of being _unbelievably_ attractive.

“You raped me! I think you slagging well _owe_ me.”

Megatron growled at him. “Don’t pretend you weren’t _into_ it.”

 _“Not the point,”_ Sunstreaker ground out, landing another dent on Megatron’s armor and barely dodging out of the way of a hit that would’ve given him a significantly larger dent.

“You could have told your side what happened.” This time he didn’t manage to jerk out of the way in time and Megatron’s claws dug into his side. Blood splurted from the wound deep enough to damage larger fuel lines.

Neither of them paid the pink any mind. Megatron stared him down. _“Did you?”_

He had to already know the answer. Or guess it, anyway, if he didn’t know for sure.

Sunstreaker grit his denta, but confirmed it anyway. _“No.”_

“And why is that?” Neither Soundwave nor Sideswipe made a single move to interrupt them, verbally or physically. Sunstreaker didn’t know if he was grateful or not when Megatron steadily drove him towards admissions he did not want to give.

Some distraction from this line of discussion would’ve been welcome.

Sunstreaker stayed silent aside from the revving of his engine, and Megatron continued. “You _want_ it.”

_He did._

“I do not!”

Megatron snorted.

“Oh slag right off,” Sunstreaker snarled at the lack of belief he was met with, ramming his shoulder into Megatron with enough force to make him take a step back. He couldn’t truly test the tyrant’s balance, though, and had to retreat that instant to deny Megatron the chance to grab him.

“Why have they kept you from battles? You _tore_ through my troops last time, you and your brother.”

Sideswipe puffed up with pride and even Sunstreaker felt a burst of satisfaction. All he did was sneer, though. “So you _did_ notice, huh?” Megatron didn’t say anything to that, only forced Sunstreaker to dance away from another grab that would’ve likely ended the fight right there and then. Injuries were piling on the both of them. Dents, torn plating. The kind that could be explained away with just regular hand to hand combat.

No sword marks that would’ve made very little sense. “It was _because_ we tore through your troops,” Sunstreaker eventually responded, on this side of reluctant, but ultimately seeing no reason to not disclose reason—and offer an explanation for why they were out of the fight for the foreseeable future.

You know, just in case Megatron would think it had something to do with _him._ He shouldn’t flatter himself like that.

“Did the Prime disapprove of your _violence?”_ Megatron sneered, a touch of genuine displeasure in his field, as was probably the norm when he thought of Optimus. The leaders of the two sides of the war predictably just _didn’t_ get along. 

But could it be something _more_ than just that?

“We had our orders,” Sunstreaker grumbled, biting back a groan when Megatron’s fist glanced off of his already injured side. Fragging hurt. “We didn’t listen.”

“The Autobots keep you _muzzled_ and _shackled.”_ There it was, that _heat_ of beliefs the tyrant held tight to. A burst of curiosity ricocheted between him and Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker wasn’t sure which one it had come from.

Did Megatron really give a damn about how the Autobots treated them? His field teeked _offense_ that Sunstreaker didn’t quite understand.

“If you fought for _me_ I would use your _full_ potential.”

...What had he said last time about not letting _surprise_ get the better of him again?

Well, he just failed at that. Sunstreaker stumbled a step, and that was enough of an opening for Megatron to grab him by the upper arm, yanking him flush with the larger mech’s chassis. He snarled and fought against the grip, useless as that was. It was too tight, Megatron was too strong—and completely ignored the digits of his free arm that dug into his side.

And the kick to his shins, for that matter. “I’m not a _traitor,”_ Sunstreaker hissed, staring up at the burning red optics, feeling their heat—and knowing his own frame matched it, his vents panting already, and harder by the moment.

“Oh, but you already _are,”_ Megatron growled at him. “You want my spike, enough that you _lie_ to your leaders. Aren’t relations with the enemy explicitly forbidden in the Autobot code, hmm?”

Damn him, but he wasn’t _wrong._

Sunstreaker had no argument to that, but he revved his engine all the same, even as something thick and hot pumped through his lines, setting him aflame.

“You know it as well as I do,” Megatron said in a low rumble before wrapping a servo around his waist and pulling him _up_ off his pedes. Sunstreaker scrambled against his chassis, but then rough lips had already found his. His vents gasped, Megatron pressed him against himself, and if their kiss had been brief and chaste last time, this was _nothing_ like that. Megatron bit his lower lip and when Sunstreaker’s mouth fell open from the sting, the tyrant’s glossa pushed straight in.

Sunstreaker shivered from helm to pede as his mouth was thoroughly plundered, the heat of it traveling down his frame until it settled solidly in his groin. He could feel his valve slicking even further, and Primus, but here he was again, about to get fragged by the _enemy_ and turned the fuck on from it. 

He moaned. Slag him to pit and back but he _moaned_ into the kiss and didn’t even _try_ to pull away. He should’ve. He really, really should’ve.

But he didn’t.

Megatron’s servo, the one not holding him about his waist, traveled along his frame until his aft was cupped. Before he could think better of it, Sunstreaker wrapped his legs around the tyrant’s waist, pressing their frames closer together until the heat from their engines mingled, the thrum of Megatron’s frame vibrating into his own. 

Megatron ground them together, and pits, but the heat wafting from his cover matched the one coming off of Sunstreaker’s. Sunstreaker took pleasure in knowing Megatron wasn’t unaffected by this either—but then again, if he wasn’t, why would he do any of this?

One day—one day he’d find out why the warlord had taken a sudden interest in him… But in the right now Sunstreaker only wanted one thing, and Megatron _had it._

But he wasn’t about to _ask_ for it.

It didn’t matter. Megatron wanted it too, and he had no qualms about _taking_ it, with or without a permission. That worked for Sunstreaker just fine.

Without ever letting up from his mouth— _the press of lips against lips_ —Megatron lowered them to the ground, Sunstreaker’s back hitting it surprisingly softly.

But what wasn’t soft was the way Megatron moved against him. He might’ve removed his glossa from its thrusts into Sunstreaker’s mouth, but it was only to _bite_ his lips instead, sharpened denta more than grazing the mesh of his faceplates. One of the tyrant’s servos slipped between them, brushing against his valve cover before the tips of his claws pressed into the seams again, the demand clear.

Sunstreaker didn’t open. The claws pressed harder—Megatron bit harder. And he didn’t need to say it when it was so clear in his gestures— _open, or this comes off entirely._

And that still wasn’t something Sunstreaker wanted to explain to his side. 

He relented with that threat, retracting it. Megatron’s digits slipped into the sopping opening, first one, then two, then three, until Sunstreaker was grinding against them, his vents blasting scorching air. He had to strangle his vocalizer to keep his moans from breaking loose, but his engine revved and his field became a viscous thing, bleeding his arousal all over the place. 

He wanted it. Everyone on the scene knew he wanted it, and Sideswipe only stood by and let him have it. Soundwave too, for that matter, but then his only reason to be here was likely to keep Sideswipe from interfering.

That was no concern.

Megatron grabbed his aft tighter and lifted his hips after he’d removed his digits from his valve, and there was the _snap_ of another cover retracting before the impossible width of the larger mech nudged against his valve, then _pushed in._ It split him so _fucking_ wide–

And Sunstreaker wouldn’t have it any other way. He groaned with utter satisfaction as Megatron thrust in all the way, sheathing the entirety of his spike into his body—and there was a lot to take there, both in girth and length. He was _full_ in the best fucking way by the end of it, and Megatron, the slagger, barely gave him time to adjust before he’d already fetched his spike, only to _ram_ it back in. 

It was violent, harsh, _uncaring,_ and Sunstreaker loved every second of it, the scrape of the warlord’s spike against the sensors of his valve, over and over again as Megatron chased his pleasure and drove Sunstreaker higher on the side, slam after slam. His engine couldn’t keep up, stuttering and roaring as his arousal built to that point where his mind turned to fragging _mush_ and only the pleasure mattered.

And still Megatron pressed into his frame until his crotch and the backs of his thighs complained with every impact, sure to dent under the assault of Megatron’s thicker, stronger armor. 

Sunstreaker closed his optics to the torrent of sensation, but even so he just knew Megatron was watching his every reaction. The fragger’s field had that taste of self-satisfaction to it, the like that a mech got when they knew they were unraveling another despite the victim’s best efforts.

And oh, but Sunstreaker tried to hold back, to deny the pleasure in his systems, to prolong the experience–

But it was a battle he was quickly losing. His valve tightened until Megatron was _growling_ against him–

And Sunstreaker came. A hoarse cry rose from his throat, his frame snapped taut, charge crackled all across his plating, and fucking Primus but it was one of the best overloards of his goddamn _life._ Megatron kept thrusting through the spasmodic ripples of his valve, drawing it out further and further until Sunstreaker thought he might go mad, the pleasure multiplying to levels that utterly blinded him and fritzed his processors.

He could only focus on that, Megatron’s spike hammering into him… And Sideswipe.

Sideswipe, who was on his knees on the ground, moaning through his own overload, overwhelmed by what Sunstreaker was experiencing. 

And then Megatron, finally, lost his restraint and slammed against him one more time before the arcs of miniature lightning shot out from the gaps of his armor and the hot pulse of transfluid joined the mess in Sunstreaker’s already drenched valve.

He was panting, but with Megatron’s frame atop him, there was little he could do to truly cool himself. Sunstreaker’s optics opened and he stared up at the sky, past Megatron’s bulk…

Then he tilted his helm back to have an upside down view of his brother. Sideswipe was staring at the ground, his fans running high, but as unexpected as his reaction had been… He wasn’t opposed to it.

It was pretty fun, actually.

Sunstreaker chuckled, prompting Megatron to look at him, and at the last minute the twin remembered he was supposed to glare.

Which he proceeded to do. The corner of Megatron’s mouth twitched like he was fighting back a smile.

Fucking bastard.

...Who was really good at fucking.

Like, _really_ good.

...He was fragging doomed, wasn’t he?

“Did that feel good?” Megatron rumbled at him, and this time he did smile.

Sunstreaker glared harder. _“Go jump in a fucking smelter.”_

Megatron had the audacity to _laugh_ at him, but he chose that moment to pull out, thoroughly distracting Sunstreaker from any retort he might’ve had. Instead he shuddered, hating the cold air that invaded his gaping, empty valve, and immediately missing the heat of Megatron’s frame when the tyrant sat back.

Missing _that?_ What the pit was wrong with him…

A lot of things, honestly.

“You were driving along your patrol route–” Megatron spoke up. He’d pulled a cloth from his subspace and was wiping his spike with it. “–Until a few of the Stunticons intercepted you. You fought.”

“We’ll tell that much once we get back to the Ark,” Sideswipe said, drawing everyone’s attention. His brother was inspecting the lubricant leaking from the seams of his panel.

It didn’t look one bit like Sideswipe had fought anything, because he hadn’t, but they could fix that easily enough. “I mean, that’s totally something we’d fail to report right away,” Sideswipe continued, looking up with a wry grin.

“Very well,” Megatron said, his optics shifting back to Sunstreaker and flashing with… What? Lust? Anticipation?

Megatron leaned down, and before Sunstreaker could string two thoughts together, another scorching but chaste kiss was already pressed to his mouth, melting away any thoughts he was even trying entertain.

He was going to hell for this, but Unicron’s tailpipe if he wasn’t enjoying the ride there.

“I look forward to our next encounter,” Megatron growled at him, the tip of his digit resting under his jaw, sharp and dangerous–

And then Megatron pulled away and rose to his pedes, his equipment safely tucked away, but fluids still splattered on his groin and an unholy amount of paint transfers telling the story of their illicit affair.

But it wasn’t like there was anyone to tell _Megatron_ he shouldn’t be doing this. He could go home looking however he wanted to.

Sunstreaker, on the other hand?

He and Sideswipe would need to do some _covering up_ again. 

Sunstreaker didn’t even bother sitting up as he watched Megatron walk away. Soundwave transformed onto his servo again, and then the tyrant and his Third were already shooting away from the scene of the crime, just like last time.

Sideswipe came over to him once the Decepticons were gone, a grin on his brother’s face. They’d both had fun, hadn’t they? “Okay, let’s get cracking. Prowl might still send someone to check out this location.”

And Sunstreaker very well couldn’t march into the Ark looking like he did now, yeah.

* * *

It was an appropriately long time later that they arrived back at the Ark, a little worse for wear. They’d banged up Sideswipe too, in keeping with their story of the both of them having fought the Stunticons.

First stop, medbay. Sideswipe commed Prowl on their way there. ::Hi Prowl! Yeah, yeah, it went well. But! We ran into Drag Strip, Dead End, and Wildrider. Didn’t sustain any serious injuries but we’re gonna run by Ratchet. You want our reports afterwards?:: And there it came, the ‘why didn’t you comm. anyone about this?’ ::Weeee didn’t think it was that important?:: Sideswipe offered with just the right amount of hesitation to sound truthful. ::I don’t think they were doing anything more ‘an driving around before they ran into us and decided to start trouble.::

Ah, yeah, they shouldn’t be the judges of that. ::Sorreeeeh. We’ll make the reports extra good to make up for this, deal?::

And they got their permission to do that. Fantastic.

Now, Ratchet. “Raaaaatch!” Sideswipe hollered the moment the medbay doors opened for them, which was perfectly unnecessary because the medic was in the medbay proper and looked up when they entered.

His expression darkened when he saw them. “What the slag did you get up to?!” he asked as he dropped whatever he was doing and marched towards them. “Berth apiece, stat!” 

The twins walked over to the nearest two berths and sat on them. Sideswipe grinned. “Fun with some Stunticons~ ‘Least Motormaster wasn’t there, imagine how that would’ve ended.”

Sunstreaker snorted. Yeah, the messes they’d be if the crazed Optimus wannabe had been present…

The messes they should be because _Megatron_ had been present.

Except he hadn’t wanted to fuck them up, just fuck one of them. 

“Did you call the Ark?” Ratchet asked, and oh dear but those were promises of bad things in his voice, right there. Sunstreaker had to fight back a grimace.

“Uhhh… No?” Sideswipe was very careful when he said that, but it wasn’t enough to save them. Sideswipe got a hit on the helm first, then it was Sunstreaker’s turn. He growled in affront, rubbing at the new dent on him that blended very well with all the dents Megatron had caused.

They’d fixed the uh, ones around his thighs and crotch, to the best of their ability anyway, but that was it. He was banged up, his plating torn at places, claw marks on him—Sideswipe looked a little better, but not by much after what they’d done to him in the name of their cover story.

“Do you at least feel _calmer?”_ Ratchet growled at them as he began his scans. 

Boy, did they. Sunstreaker couldn’t stop his grin. Sideswipe laughed. “Do we ever~ That was _good.”_

Heh. Yeah.

Ratchet rolled his optics. “Good, I guess. _So help me_ if you do that again, though! What is it with your inability to accept _help?”_

“Not our fault we can handle shit,” Sunstreaker huffed.

He got banged on the helm again. Ratchet, _seriously._

“Stow that attitude. You’re not invincible.”

Yeah, Megatron had proven that well enough.

...These would be very long repairs if he was all Sunstreaker could think about.


	9. Hunger Pangs

There weren’t any battles, but Sunstreaker was _pretty_ sure they would’ve been allowed to attend, had there been some. Ironhide seemed satisfied with the _progress_ they were making in remembering how the hell to take some orders, which the twins were trying to do, if only because Prowl would never let them fight again otherwise.

Or maybe he would _some_ day, but not soon enough for their liking. There was a war going on! Sunstreaker couldn’t pretend he cared too much about winning it and bringing it to an end that way, but he sure gave a damn about getting to _participate_ in it.

Besides… Battles would be opportunities to see Megatron. Even just _see_ him, maybe share a few looks… Doubtful as it was they would have had the time for much else with all the distractions around.

Why the _slag_ was he thinking about something like that?

Sideswipe, at least, continued to find the whole thing fucking _hilarious_ as they made use of their day off duty and headed out of the Ark. Nothing like a good, long ass drive to spend their free time…

Maybe somewhere particularly _out of the way,_ too. Up the mountains again, perhaps. 

You know, for _no particular_ reason. 

But they didn’t talk about that reason. Sunstreaker didn’t talk about much of anything, but Sideswipe sure kept his mouth running with useless garbage intermittent with music and pop culture references. They drove far too fast by the humans’ useless standards, as always, weaving through the traffic they ran into to the tune of many, many blaring horns.

Prowl would have their heads if he knew about their _reckless endangerment of organic life,_ because the squishies had a lot harder time surviving the kind of crashes Cybertronians could recover just fine from, but he wasn’t here to see, was he?

And if some of the humans phoned the police on their afts, well, they just moved too fast for the law to catch up with them and had already left the more populated roads by the time anyone could’ve arrived on the scene. 

They didn’t follow the patrol route of _last time,_ but instead cut into a different portion of the mountainsides. Well out of the way of everyone and everything still, with very little in the way of potential distractions… They were handy targets like that, weren’t they?

But.

Nothing happened. 

They drove around for a time, racing each other along the empty, winding roads, but no one turned up to interrupt them. No comm. jams, no spark signatures that _should_ have spelled _bad time._

No nothing.

Just them and the roads.

Days off were supposed to be for winding down and relaxing, and while usually this would have been their method of winding down and relaxing, this time Sunstreaker only grew _frustrated._ Frustrated and irritable, and angry with himself for being frustrated and irritable—what the frag was he, lusting after the _enemy leader,_ expecting the mech to show up just because there was an opportunity for it?

Well, yeah, he was. He fragging well was, but Megatron _didn’t take the bait._

It was driving him nuts as they made their way back towards the Ark, and even Sideswipe wasn’t chortling over it _as_ much as he would’ve if Sunstreaker’s mood was any less murderous. He was still laughing, but he kept it somewhat to himself. 

Of course, Sunstreaker’s frustration would never be just _Sunstreaker’s_ frustration. Sideswipe was feeling it too, and just because Sideswipe’s temperament was _generally_ better… Well, Sideswipe needed an outlet for it, too. 

But true to form, Sideswipe’s outlet was markedly what the Autobots would have called _healthier._ As they returned to the Ark, his brother set out in search of a berth buddy to frag away his irritable energy—which only made Sunstreaker more aggravated, considering _he_ was denied the same. Oh, nothing would have stopped him from finding someone to frag either, but there was only _one_ he wanted. 

And that trapped him in the vicious cycle of being angry due to his wanting, wanting more because he was angry, and… _Yeah._

“Hey, Sunstreaker! You wanna–”

“No! _Frag off,”_ he snapped at Jazz, his digits twitching with the urge to shove the smaller mech aside.

But on the grounds that Jazz was one of those mecha you did _not_ want to piss off—as hard as he was to really piss off—he pooled enough self control to refrain from that and stormed by _without_ laying a servo on the TIC.

Go him.

He could almost _feel_ Jazz shrug after him, not too perturbed by his attitude. It wasn’t like it was too unusual, coming from him.

The sparring room was destination, and he wasn’t sure if he’d hoped there would or wouldn’t be someone there, but _Ironhide_ was present. Because they hadn’t dealt with him enough recently, what with the training Prowl had mandated.

He swore Ironhide had enjoyed it, too. Well, had after they’d started to put in the effort to actually try with the whole thing, instead of just ignoring everything he said. Maybe he enjoyed bossing them around. Who the pit knew.

“Sunstreaker?” Ironhide asked more than a little warily as he stormed in, straightening from where he had been inspecting the practice weapons, by the looks of things. “Wasn’t this yer day off?”

“Is,” he growled in answer, marching into the practice ring and… Stalking back and forth like a caged animal, unable to find the focus to actually practice anything.

He needed a target. Something to beat up.

Pits, why did the drones need to be off limits to him for _having broken them too many times?_

Ironhide read his mind. Or, his body rather, probably. “Wanna spar?” he asked, putting away the weapons and approaching the ring.

Sunstreaker ground his denta together loud enough that he was pretty sure Ironhide heard the sound, but nodded brusquely.

Beat up Ironhide, that sounded like a plan. 

“Righty,” Ironhide said, sounding a bit cautious. Which wasn’t a surprise. Sunstreaker’s _moods_ rarely ended well for anyone, and it was practically a public service to willingly put yourself in his way when he was feeling… Like this. 

Except his reasons for his bad air were a bit more unusual and _unlawful_ this time around. 

But no one needed to know that much. He was moody to begin with, reasons be damned. A hell of a lot of things could set him off. Most didn’t even bother asking what it had been _this_ time.

Ironhide didn’t either, just stepped into the ring and waited until Sunstreaker spun on his heel to face him. Then he took a ready combat posture and gestured for Sunstreaker to make the first attack with a flick of his digits.

Sunstreaker happily took the invitation.

Off they went. The good thing about Ironhide was that he could match them in skill, a feat very few mecha could manage. He was old, he was experienced, he knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

He still couldn’t withstand them if they fought together, but one on one and he was _more_ than a match for either one of them. 

Was that what he needed right then? Or someone he could have just _beat up?_ Sunstreaker wasn’t sure, but Ironhide was what he had, and Ironhide didn’t hold back. He couldn’t, really, because Sunstreaker for sure had none of the restraint required to not go at it with far too much force to call it _safe_ sparring.

Ironhide didn’t say anything about that, just matched him.

But frag, his thoughts were racing. Sparring, or fighting, was supposed to _center_ him, pull his attention to the present and keep it there on the threat of bodily harm.

It didn’t work too well this time. All he could think about was his pre-frag fights with _Megatron,_ who faced him as an opponent of worth before beating him and _‘facing_ him for his trouble. Neither time had Sunstreaker lost because his skill would have ran out, though. He had just gotten caught by surprise, and not even by anything Megatron had _done,_ but what he’d _said._

He should be better than that! Pit fights with certain opponents had very much included vicious banter meant to distract the opposition. He hadn’t gotten as far as he had by falling victim to that tactic.

Except with Megatron it wasn’t just _banter,_ was it? They were conversations. Between enemies, and far from peaceful, but at times it was a genuine exchange of information instead of just something _meant_ to distract.

Side-effect just happened to be Sunstreaker’s distraction when Megatron said something he didn’t see coming. Like the thing about his glitch.

Or the notion of how Megatron would have treated them, used them, if they fought for _him._

They were Autobots! Megatron should hate their guts, should want to kill them, especially after their combat prowess costing his side so many injuries and deaths. He’d said it himself, that they had been _efficient_ against his troops—torn through them, as he put it.

But Megatron hadn’t killed him. Or Sideswipe. Same thing, really. No, instead he’d _fragged_ him.

A lot more pleasant than dying, that was for sure.

What was Megatron’s endgame with all of this though? Or did he even have one? Was this just a tryst that he’d like to continue for as long as his interest in it remained, only to stop when he grew bored? Kill Sunstreaker once that happened, maybe?

Or just let the whole thing die on its own, never to be brought up again?

Ugh, he didn’t kn–

“Yer sloppy.” Ironhide’s voice broke through his thoughts. As if to make a point, the weapons specialist sent him crashing into the ground in a move that Sunstreaker very well should have been able to see coming and counter.

He growled but rolled back to his pedes before Ironhide could pin him and end their match. They were both dented from back and forth attacks, and at least Sunstreaker had enough raw skill to not lose right away even if his mind wasn’t really in it—but pits, _it should be._

Why was it so fragging hard to focus?

“Keep dreaming,” he growled at Ironhide, intent on wiping the floors with the older mech. And he really did try to keep his focus in the present and on the fight as they moved around the training ring, attacks, dodges, blocks, feigns…

Just like with Megatron.

Except Megatron radiated _danger_ and _power_ in a way Ironhide didn’t, making him a far more… _Titillating_ opponent. 

His back hit the ground, and this time he couldn’t get out of the way before Ironhide had pinned in a hold that would have seriously broken body parts if the weapons specialist was _serious_ about this. 

Sunstreaker’s field lashed out with barely diluted rage, but even though it was through bared, clenched denta, he did growl, _“Yield.”_

“Not yer best show ever, kid,” Ironhide commented, loosening his hold enough that Sunstreaker could push him away if he wanted to.

He didn’t. “Yeah yeah.” He knew already, no need to fragging _say_ it. 

“Help any?” Ironhide asked next, raising one optical ridge at him.

Sunstreaker glared. No, it didn’t really help, at least not nearly as much as he’d have hoped. His spark still simmered, his core running hot from pent up energies that refused to dispel, even through violence.

He blamed his goddamn head for that. If he’d at least had his thoughts under control… But frag, he didn’t have even that much going for him.

“Wanna try something else?” Ironhide’s servo slipped between them and brushed against his array covers. Sunstreaker gave it a quick thought, came to the conclusion that _it couldn’t hurt, could it,_ and snapped his valve cover aside.

He was already damp, what with his frustration having a decidedly _sexual_ tone to it— _damn Megatron_ —and while Ironhide first inserted only one digit, he quickly found enough lubrication to increase that to three. Sunstreaker’s engine was growling and he really had none of the patience for proper preparations, a hint Ironhide took easily enough. He released his spike and out of courtesy Sunstreaker reached down to stroke his servo over it and gave it a few pumps to bring the war veteran into full pressurization.

Reading his impatience, Ironhide didn’t toy around longer than that before he brushed Sunstreaker’s servo aside, tilted his hips up, and drove home. 

There was the sting of not having prepared his valve adequately, but Sunstreaker gladly took it. Ironhide was larger than average for his frame size, at least as far as girth went, and the twins had always enjoyed it. 

Now?

Now it wasn’t _enough._

Sunstreaker growled as Ironhide began to thrust, the stretch of the older mech’s spike quickly fading away as his calipers adjusted. They didn’t adjust like that to _Megatron,_ who remained always a bit too big in the best fucking way.

And the _way_ Megatron ‘faced… It was so _un-_ Autobot. “Harder,” Sunstreaker ground out, shoving his hips into Ironhide’s next push in. But, that wasn’t unusual from him either. Sunstreaker liked it rough, everyone knew that.

So all Ironhide did was quicken his pace, increase the strength he put behind every snap of his hips—Sunstreaker’s servos slipped to his aft to guide him even faster, even harder. He knew Ironhide was a little rougher than most Autobots, that he wasn’t opposed to _real_ fucking.

But apparently Sunstreaker was demanding more than what even Ironhide was willing or able to give. “What’s gotten into you, kid?” he grunted as Sunstreaker’s servos tightened to clash their bodies together harder.

Not _what._

_Who._

He wasn’t going to say that much. “Nothing,” he growled instead, his field lashing against Ironhide’s—Ironhide’s, whose only met it instead of _drowning_ it with everything he was–

Because Ironhide wasn’t that much. He was old, he was strong in his own way, tested and proven by time and elements…

But he wasn’t _Megatron._

_Fragitall._

Sunstreaker’s engine roared, but he pushed the older mech away enough that he could turn over before Ironhide had the time to wonder what he was up to. He brought his aft up and Ironhide took the invitation and shoved back in, setting up a pace that _should_ be perfectly satisfactory—fast, rough, their frames slamming together with a cacophony of metallic clashes. Sunstreaker pushed back into it, his frame _snarling._

He didn’t ask for it, but this wasn’t Ironhide’s first time with him. Without prompting the weapons specialist shoved on his shoulders, _hard,_ forcing Sunstreaker’s front end flush with the floor, and then pressed on his neck to keep him there. And that… That was more like it. A taste of the kind of dominance Megatron displayed.

Except where it came so naturally from Megatron, like it was ingrained in the warlord’s very _spark,_ from Ironhide it just felt like an _act._ A play, a role he took to try to unwind Sunstreaker—dispel some of his frustrations, make him a little less dangerous. Sunstreaker appreciated the effort, but frag…

It

Was

Not

_Enough._

He still rocked back into every thrust that just wasn’t as _punishing_ as what Megatron could so effortlessly deliver, and he still overloaded after the crackle from Ironhide’s climax traveled into his frame, but it was a meager little thing. Nothing like the processor melting overloads Megatron had pulled from him without even _trying._

They were both venting harder in the aftermath, fans running to cool their frames—just nowhere near as hot as what _Megatron_ had managed to make him.

He could feel Ironhide considering him, but the weapons specialist didn’t let him get up yet, his grip on his neck remaining, his spike still in his valve. Sunstreaker waited, a little confused and growing more irritable by the minute, but before he got to the point of _asking_ about it, Ironhide let go of him and pulled out. “Turn around,” he was told, and Sunstreaker stilled in bewilderment before he glanced back at the other mech.

And glowered.

Ironhide frowned back at him, then slapped his aft.

Hard. “Turn around, kid.”

Snarling and still confused, but… Not finding himself entirely _opposed_ to the change in attitude—or the continuation of the tone he’d personally forced on their frag, rather—Sunstreaker did as he was told and turned to face Ironhide. Before he could push himself to sitting, the old mech had grabbed him by the back of his helm with well enough force to keep him down, and tugged him closer to his still standing spike.

“Suck.”

He didn’t. In fact, Sunstreaker swam too deep in a pit of utter confusion to really do much of anything. He _hated_ giving oral, a fact Ironhide—and everyone else for that matter—was well aware of.

That in mind, normally no one would ever dare ask him to perform oral. 

...But normally he wasn’t asking to get fragged into the fucking floor, either. 

And Ironhide knew them. Ironhide knew them well, after how much time he’d spent kicking their afts around on the training floor, and sometimes fragging them afterwards.

It wasn’t a big of a stretch to realize Ironhide had—correctly—read into the situation and decided to give Sunstreaker just what he was asking for.

_“Suck.”_

He could have said no, and known that Ironhide would back off at once.

Instead Sunstreaker opened his mouth and let Ironhide push him onto his spike. Partway, anyway. Ironhide let up on the pressure the moment he felt the tip of his spike brush against the back of Sunstreaker’s throat, and while his servo didn’t leave the back of Sunstreaker’s helm, while his grip remained tight, he left the rest up to Sunstreaker.

_Normally_ he would have never agreed to take it any further than that.

_Normally_ he wasn’t fantasizing about the enemy leader.

Sunstreaker relaxed his throat and swallowed _all_ of Ironhide to one very surprised rev from the weapons specialist, the digits on his helm spasming just so. Ironhide didn’t say anything though, didn’t try to stop him no matter how out of character he was acting.

So Sunstreaker didn’t stop and only began to bob his helm along Ironhide’s spike. He’d been told to _suck,_ right? Might as well do it properly. He hadn’t exactly done this often, but Sideswipe, the oral crazed fuck sure had, and he easily pulled from his brother’s experience to ripple his intake around Ironhide’s spike, lash his glossa around it, probe at the tip when he pulled part of the way up.

But the truth remained that he did _not_ like performing oral, and it was only so many times he could stand the feeling of Ironhide’s spike entering his throat before he had to quit on that front and use only his oral cavity for however much of Ironhide’s spike he could service that way. He brought his servo up to stroke along the length he couldn’t—didn’t want to—fit into his mouth. 

Ironhide’s engine was revving with clear arousal by now, and Sunstreaker didn’t know if Sideswipe’s skills were just that good, or if the old mech liked the sight of _him_ on his knees in particular. He liked to think it was a combination of both. Who wouldn’t want _Sunstreaker_ on their knees in front of them, really?

How many would ever get to see that? So, _so_ few.

The servo on the back of his helm remained, but it didn’t push him into anything in further practice. Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if he felt disappointed or not, but he continued sucking, licking, and stroking until Ironhide was tensing in overload, his transfluid shooting into Sunstreaker’s mouth.

He smoothed out his grimace and swallowed.

Ironhide’s servo fell off his helm as his overload tapered off and Sunstreaker got off his spike, sitting back on his ankles and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. There wasn’t too much of a mess, thank Primus for his supernatural ability to keep himself clean, but the taste of transfluid was heavy on his glossa. Not very pleasant, if he was honest with himself.

But… He did feel… _Calmer._

Ironhide wasn’t Megatron, but Sunstreaker could appreciate his effort.

“Better?” the old mech asked.

He wasn’t _as_ frustrated anymore, even if his displeasure over Megatron’s fragging _absence_ remained. So… Sunstreaker shrugged, then nodded, fetching a cloth from his subspace to begin wiping himself clean. From the edge of his field of view he could see his frag buddy of the day do the same.

Well. He’d gotten fragged, success on that much.

Just not by the mech he would’ve _liked._

“Whatever am I gonna do with ye and yer brother,” Ironhide lamented as they wiped themselves off. The weapons specialist ran a servo down his face for good measure, probably struggling with how very _un-Autobot_ he’d gotten.

Sunstreaker snorted. _You don’t know the half of it, old mech._


	10. That Doesn't Make It Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUK.
> 
> This didn't go at all like I expected it to, sheesh.

The next battle that came, they were indeed allowed to _take part_ and everything. They didn’t throw themselves into it with all of their usual abandon because Prowl was still tetchy and it was in their best interest to try not to piss him off too badly.

There were still a few instances of ignored or creatively warped orders, but Prowl didn’t expect perfect obedience from them. That would’ve _never_ happened.

Had to keep your expectations realistic!

But as Sunstreaker had suspected, battles weren’t really the prime time for any meet and greets with Megatron, especially if they tried to play it by Prowl’s boring books. Prowl didn’t want them engaging Megatron.

He couldn’t even get particularly close to the tyrant before he was needed for something else or otherwise told to just leave it to Optimus.

There were looks, though. From the both of them. When Megatron wasn’t busy overseeing the Decepticons’ current goal or fighting Optimus, Sunstreaker more than once found the warlord’s optics on him.

Megatron got a glare in return every time, and once Sunstreaker happened close enough that he was pretty sure he didn’t imagine the amused upward tick at the corner of Megatron’s mouth.

Before he had to run off again to do whatever Prowl wanted. Ugh.

So that was a dry few months, at least on the front of _really_ good fucks. He partook in some ‘facing for the heck of it, a few times, but after that only left him _more_ frustrated, he saw no reason to continue.

No Autobot compared to Megatron. Maybe some of the Decepticons would have worked as substitutes, but–

Vector Sigma, was he _seriously_ thinking about ‘facing even more Decepticons? What, Megatron wasn’t enough? Had to go betray his own side a little more thoroughly, was that it?

Sideswipe was in a fucking brilliant mood almost every hour of every day due to the whole thing, though. Frustrated, sure, of course he was when Sunstreaker was so, but he just found it so _funny._ And he was probably the only Autobot that would’ve thought the whole arrangement and Sunstreaker’s little _issues_ with it were amusing, so… It was best only he knew.

And the twins were pretty good at keeping secrets. Their own, anyway. Had to be, when being honest would’ve just gotten them ostracized even further. There were a lot of details about their lives and thoughts that the Autobots had no business knowing. They’d learned to dance around those topics and either lie their way through it, or tell half truths that didn’t cast light onto anything.

This was just one more thing on the list no one else had any reason to know about. Just… Probably even more damning than the other stuff on that list.

Was it too late to end the game? He could just tell Megatron he didn’t want to do it anymore, that it was over after it had barely begun… Pretend none of it had ever happened and go back to even remotely trying to be an Autobot that didn’t shag the enemy willy nilly.

Even if that had worked, though… Did he _want_ to? 

Did he want to put an end to the best interfacing of his whole damn life, made all the more exhilarating by how utterly _wrong_ it was?

Did he _really_ want to discourage the attention of one of the most powerful mecha in existence? When that _danger_ Megatron was made him dizzy in the best fucking way? Knowing there was little he could ultimately do against him, no matter his own proficiency and strength?

Okay, so apparently he found power really fucking attractive, sue him. But Megatron embodied it _all._ Everything he wanted, and everything he didn’t know he wanted. 

...Fuck him, seriously. Was he in too damn deep already? 

Why did he think the answer to that might be a resounding _yes?_

And Sideswipe cackled.

* * *

There _had_ to be consequences to the whole thing, and Sunstreaker was sure they’d catch up with him eventually. But for now?

They were good at taking down Seekers, but always the most problematic of them all was the Command Trine. They were the _Command Trine_ for a reason—even if that reason wasn’t _always_ apparent—and some extra caution was always required when engaging any of them.

The thing about trines, too, was that they were generally pretty good at working together. That was their whole point, to split the Seekers into smaller units that functioned well in relation to each other. 

Starscream, Thundercracker, and Skywarp were no exception to that. So, best case scenario was when the trine members couldn’t come to each other’s aid, either because both of the twins were harassing that particular trine, or because their ground bound comrades were helping by keeping some of the Seekers busy.

However, things didn’t always work by the _best case scenario._ This time, when Sunstreaker heard the telltale _VOP_ of Skywarp’s teleportation while surfing on Thundercracker’s back, he knew he was in for a not so pleasant time. 

He had just the time to look over his shoulder before Skywarp had already caught up with them, in his bipedal mode for reasons that became apparent when the Seeker took a hold of him instead of just shooting him like Sunstreaker had expected. 

Then he hit the metaphorical brakes while Thundercracker very much did not do the same, and the blue Seeker slipped from his grasp to carry onward while Skywarp brought himself and Sunstreaker to a halt midair. 

It didn’t get any better from there. “Oh you have got to be kidding me…” Sunstreaker muttered when his frame began to glow purple, and with another _VOP_ an entirely different location greeted them. 

Skywarp may have been made for warping around space and time, but most other mecha were not. Space and ground bridges were _far_ more forgiving than Skywarp’s warp drive.

True to that, Sunstreaker’s processors slipped well out of alignment and were ready to start playing _walking in the air_ at him, whereas Skywarp was in exactly _no way_ affected by his jump. That should have put him in an impossibly precarious situation on the grounds that it left him in poor defense and even poorer attack where Skywarp still had all of his—lacking—faculties…

And it was a precarious position, sure, but it didn’t end near as bad as it should have. He had no fucking idea where they’d ended up in, his positioning system just shrugging its shoulders at him, but there was a forest clearing below them.

He’d have expected the Seeker to just drop him right about now, but instead Skywarp descended. Too fast for the comfort of Sunstreaker’s recently displaced frame, but hey, he wasn’t falling like a rock.

Once they were only a couple of times his height away from ground, _then_ Skywarp saw fit to let go of him. Sunstreaker didn’t land anywhere close to as gracefully as he normally would have, but he didn’t break any body parts either, so he counted that a victory.

“Have fun!” Skywarp quipped at him, and Sunstreaker looked up just in time to see the Seeker’s grin before purple light engulfed him and with yet another _VOP,_ Skywarp disappeared into thin air. 

He didn’t really have the time to dedicate any of his very slowly running thoughts to what the fuck the Seeker meant with that before the sound of _another_ jet approaching rose in the distance, growing closer by the second.

Sunstreaker knew what Seekers sounded like. This one wasn’t a Seeker.

Even through the groaning his mind was busy with, one possibility popped to the forefront of his processors.

He didn’t think too hard on it though, because it wouldn’t be long before he’d get confirmation on that. Frag but his head _hurt._ Hits he could take, his armor was specifically designed to handle that.

Nothing about him was made to handle _warping._

He didn’t really feel up to getting to his pedes if he didn’t absolutely need to, so he didn’t while he waited the minute or so it took for the jet to arrive on the scene. 

It was just as he thought. This almost felt like a _setup._

Sunstreaker did stagger to his feet as Megatron transformed a little above ground and landed with a heavy thud only muted by the vegetation of the clearing. The tyrant had one look at him before raising an optical ridge. “Skywarp’s teleportation is something else, isn’t it?”

“Fuuuuck you,” Sunstreaker responded—it came out as a bit too much like a groan to his liking. “If this is your doing I’m fucking killing you.”

“In your current state?” Amused disbelief on Megatron’s part, right there.

“...Later.” Right. See. He could do that later.

Once he felt a little better and not like the world could shatter to thousands of pieces any moment.

Right now though… He was a bit too slow on the start to react before Megatron had already stalked over to him and just… Grabbed him. Like you did when you were big and strong and… Very big and strong.

He was hauled off his pedes by his waist and Sunstreaker at least had enough state of mind to wrap his legs around Megatron’s waist.

And then they were there, in a very compromising position were anyone to stumble upon them. Sunstreaker took a few seconds to reorient himself before he _glared_ up at the tyrant, feeling his thoughts slowly piecing themselves back together.

See, the universe wasn’t exploding, reality wasn’t caving in… He could do this.

“Put me _down,”_ he snarled, kicking at the back of Megatron’s thighs, because that was sure to work. 

“While we have all the time in the world, for once? No.”

Sunstreaker huffed and pretended his frame wasn’t very quickly heating and his thoughts growing muddy from a reason that had nothing to do with Skywarp’s teleportation. “Shouldn’t you be at the battle, anyway? Being the leader of the whole damn _army_ and whatnot.”

“Soundwave has it under control,” Megatron dismissed his so called _‘concern’,_ apparently very sure that everything had been arranged for maximum _fuck._

His would be partner wasn’t as convinced. “You think they don’t notice me gone, though?” Sunstreaker asked, narrowing his optics up at the larger mech. “Prowl’s gonna be mad he doesn’t have me to order around anymore, and then they’ll just make Sideswipe play bloodhound.” And Sideswipe would find him, and couldn’t even pretend to not be able to do that when fragging _everyone_ knew their ability to locate each other was all but infallible.

“Your brother has been dealt with.” Megatron brushed that aside too, and… Well, they hadn’t killed Sideswipe or Sunstreaker wouldn’t feel as alive as he did right then, but when he focused on their spark, it turned out to be very true that Sideswipe was _thoroughly_ knocked out. Their spark was dancing around with Sunstreaker’s anticipation and Sideswipe’s mirth over his anticipation, but there was no feedback whatsoever from his _frame._

Well then.

Sunstreaker shrugged.

“Really? No death threats for injuring your brother?” 

“If you wanted to kill me you could just… _Do it._ Since you haven’t, I take it you don’t want to do that, so it follows that Sideswipe is fine.

“...Mostly fine, anyway.” He didn’t know what they had done to manage to knock his twin out cold, because they were built beyond sturdy and that shouldn’t be an easy feat, but…

Eh, he’d be okay, probably.

“Flippant,” Megatron commented, but it was evident both of their thoughts were starting to head to different tracks entirely. It wasn’t just Sunstreaker’s frame that was a little hot to touch, anymore.

Sunstreaker revved his engine. “Works in your favor.”

“That it does.” And that was the end of their interest in _talking._ Megatron lifted him further up, effortlessly, like Sunstreaker’s frame didn’t weigh a thing… And he definitely didn’t fight as much as he should have when Megatron pressed his lips to his.

Megatron’s lips were rough against his, just like the rest of the mech. Not only in the way they moved and pressed, no, but in texture also. Roughened by a lifetime of struggling, of beating all of the odds stacked up against him—fierce, _intense_ in a way no Autobot had ever managed, and he doubted would ever manage. It wasn’t just a _taste_ of the fire burning in Megatron’s spark, it was a slagging _flood_ of it in everything Megatron did, here or anywhere else—in this or in anything else. 

He was so tantalizingly _dangerous,_ a demolisher that razed everything that stood in his way—an unrivaled dominator exerting his power and control over the entire _world._

And Sunstreaker had caught his attention. Sunstreaker was tightening his legs around his hips, his vents panting already, and they were only getting started. 

Megatron’s glossa flicked over his lips, asking for entrance.

Sunstreaker pressed his denta together and _denied–_

–If just for the thrill of hearing Megatron growl deep from his frame, a rough bite on his lower lip nearly pulling a gasp from Sunstreaker. The pressure only increased until the sharpened denta began to dig into his dermal plating— _demanding,_ and Sunstreaker, still _denying._

The frame he was held against _shook_ from the strength of the rev of Megatron’s engine and the warlord’s grip on him tightened, until it, too, threatened to dent his armor. One servo held his thigh, the other had traveled to the back of his helm… Holding him, _trapping_ him in place. 

Claws began to dig into his plating. Sunstreaker shivered from helm to pede at the clear _when_ —not _if_ , there was no _if_ with Megatron—in the tyrant’s every gesture.

Sunstreaker would _give in_ because no one said _no_ to Megatron.

But oh, the road to that _yes_ was paved with so many harsh things that Sunstreaker would have gladly bled for— _had_ bled for, _would_ bleed for. _Make him,_ don’t fucking _ask,_ _take_ it–

And Megatron was everything he could have dreamed of. Those claws, dangerous, massive claws, _sunk_ into the plating of his thigh. Alerts blinked on his HUD, pain blossomed—blood flowed when Megatron pierced deep enough to cut into the fuel lines feeding the engine in his leg.

Still Sunstreaker refused, snarling deep from his engine, only for that to get drowned out by the _thunder_ Megatron’s engine produced. His denta cut into his lip just as his claws had cut into his neck, and with a full-body tremor, Sunstreaker finally yielded, his mouth falling open. Megatron’s glossa immediately invaded his oral cavity, and when Sunstreaker _bit_ down on it without fanfare… Oh, how he _felt_ it on his body. 

Megatron’s talons rent his plating further, digging painful, _painful_ furrows into his leg—slowly cutting into his helmet.

And Sunstreaker groaned against the vicious lips of the _enemy_ —and even when his denta parted again and released the warlord’s glossa, those claws didn’t unhook from the wounds they had created.

His punishment for his disobedience.

He should have hated it. He should have wanted nothing to do with it, he should have wanted to _kill_ Megatron–

Instead all he could feel was _heat_ and _lust_ that the pain did _nothing_ to quell. 

He’d liked it rough, always had. This… Probably went a lot beyond that. The damage was real, the blood was real. It wasn’t just a hard frag.

When had it ever been? Hadn’t fights prefaced all of their previous encounters?

Sunstreaker ground his groin down against Megatron’s even as the tyrant fucking _used_ his mouth, his glossa accepting no resistance whatsoever. It came and went as it pleased, did what it pleased, and it didn’t matter what Sunstreaker wanted—and that was exactly what he wanted. It was heady, heady, _heady;_ his vents blasted hot air, knowing he should never in a million years be doing this–

His arms wrapped around Megatron’s neck. The tyrant didn’t seem to mind.

Megatron’s claws pulled _out of this thigh_ to the gush of more energon, only for the blood stained digits to reach for his valve cover instead. They scratched against it, digging furrows into the metal before hooking into the seams like every time previously–

And like every time previously, Sunstreaker retracted it before it was torn off entirely.

 _Answers._ His side would want answers he was not willing to give.

Primus, all of this would be hard enough to explain already.

Megatron’s cover retracted too, and this time there were no preparations, just the sudden _shove_ of Megatron’s spike into his fucking _soaked_ valve. The stretch was abrupt, his calipers completely unprepared for it, it fragging _hurt–_

And he _moaned_ into their kiss, rocking his frame to drive the genocidal maniac’s spike _deeper._ Megatron growled against him, bit his lip—brought both of his servos to his aft and _lifted,_ then _dropped–_

Fragging him standing like it was no exertion whatsoever. Not even a wall to pin him against.

Sunstreaker arched his back, angled his hips, and _took it,_ took every time Megatron let his frame fall onto his spike only for the next upward motion to drag against sensors already screaming with charge.

He didn’t last long. Of course he didn’t, how could he have when he was so fucking full that not one sensor was left unattended, _everything_ in his valve ripe for the stimulation of Megatron’s spike. It drove him up, up, and up, until he reached the _peak_ and fell off the other side.

Charge _exploded_ in his frame, and he would have screamed if his vocalizer hadn’t given out to just a burst of static. Lightning arced along his plating and his valve clamped down with all of its might as his frame tensed from helm to pede.

Megatron jerked his hips against him until his spike was as deep as it could go and then more charge assaulted Sunstreaker’s frame, this time originating from the warlord. It tingled across his sensitized plating, shot into his valve along with Megatron’s transfluid, and drew his frame into another, smaller overload right on the heels of the one that barely had the time to end.

It was fucking _glorious._

He was so hot, his frame burning, but there was nothing his fans or vents could do as Megatron never fucking _left_ it, only lowered them to the ground until Sunstreaker’s back hit it.

Like this now, huh?

“Stamina, is it?” Sunstreaker asked, his voice still a little staticky but a bloodthirsty grin on his face.

“You’ll find that I have some,” Megatron growled back at him before their mouths clashed together once again, and this time Sunstreaker had the time to weasel his own glossa into Megatron’s mouth. Surprisingly, he was allowed to do so, and _pits,_ but the _fire_ and _brimstone_ in him—the taste of _war_ and _death_ that somehow managed to permeate him… This was the _unmaker,_ and he was between _Sunstreaker’s_ legs, his spike thrusting into him.

And he’d never felt anything better.

Megatron’s glossa drove his own back into his mouth and then it was Sunstreaker on the receiving end _of it all,_ his servos only grasping onto Megatron through every _slam_ into his frame—some desperate attempt to ground himself even as the ground fell out from under him and another overload hit him with all the force of a freight train.

This time he screamed, his back arching off the ground and _into_ Megatron, all the better for the warbringer to drive his spike into him, through his overload, beyond it, over and over again until _another one_ had Sunstreaker tensing and crying out—Megatron’s name.

The tyrant _hissed_ against him, a sound that was nothing but _pleased,_ and Sunstreaker spared one thought to _how fucking screwed he was–_

Before Megatron exiled that with an overload of his own, his charge _zapping_ at Sunstreaker and his valve further soiled by Megatron’s come. 

And _still_ Sunstreaker ground his hips against Megatron’s, even through the heat warnings his frame was giving him, because _why the fuck not?_

What did he have to lose anymore?

Had he ever even fucking cared about what he had to lose?

Not really, had he?

Oh, what a bad, _bad_ Autobot he was.

“Frag me,” he hissed, digging his digits into the gaps of Megatron’s armor, tugging him closer.

And Megatron _growled_ at him, the sound vibrating the ground and the air–

But he pulled _out,_ and _away,_ and Sunstreaker released a growl of his own, his optics flashing.

Before he could say anything, though, or _do_ anything, Megatron had already grabbed him with harsh servos, turning him over.

And _fuck_ but Sunstreaker had no complaints about that when Megatron lifted his hips up and _rammed_ back into his valve. One of his servos remained on his hip, keeping them up, but the _other…_

The other traveled along his back until it wrapped around the back of his _neck_ and pressed him down—forcing his chest into the ground, his helm _down,_ pinned in place like a fucking whore, and Megatron began to fragging drill him, driving into his frame with so much _force_ that Sunstreaker wasn’t sure he’d ever felt anything like it in his whole damn life.

But Megatron was busting a lot of records, even with their very limited encounters. 

“Fragging _yes,”_ he ground out, using the limited motion left to him to shove his hips back into Megatron’s every goddamn thrust—and when had he been in almost this same exact position last time?

Ironhide was _nothing_ compared to the strength Megatron displayed right then and there, and like he wasn’t even _trying_ —like he dominated everything and everyone just by _existing._

He was going to go mad. He was going to lose his _fucking_ mind. “Fragging _‘face_ me, ‘face me you fragging _despot–”_

Megatron’s engine revved, _hard,_ the vibrations of it traveling through his fragging spike and straight into his goddamned _core,_ and Sunstreaker couldn’t keep himself from groaning into the dirt he was pressed, _pinned_ against. 

“You like to be put to your place, _do you?”_ the tyrant asked from him, his voice the kind of snarl that only further scattered each and every thought Sunstreaker had ever had–

But how would he explain it? How could he ever explain how _high_ the sheer _power_ Megatron was drove him? Megatron could do this if he wanted, and there was _fuckall_ Sunstreaker would have been able to do about it even if he’d been inclined to do anything about it. 

The strength, the control, the things Megatron was, the _blood_ he’d shed…

The violence.

“Only by the likes of _you,”_ Sunstreaker growled back before his mouth fell open at a particularly hard thrust that was going to leave fucking _indents_ on his aft, he was sure of it–

“The likes of me,” and Primus, but Megatron’s _voice,_ deep, rough, above him, all around him, “Or just _me?”_

He was so fucking close and he would die from this, he was sure of it. “Don’t flatter yourself,” Sunstreaker managed to get out, voice so fragging strained it was a surprise his vocalizer even managed to squeeze the words out of it–

And then it was all fragging over for him. Sunstreaker _screamed_ as overload crashed through him one more time, hard enough that cables _snapped_ from the tension, systems burning themselves out, _ecstasy_ the only thing he could feel.

Megatron rumbled before Sunstreaker could feel his charge join the one already dancing in Sunstreaker’s frame, only adding to it, building on it—his valve was full to the point of overflowing, lubricant and transfluid trailing down his thighs and onto the ground.

And that, that was a new record he doubted would be broken anytime soon.

Then it was over, the tension draining from his body and leaving him strutless, shaking, gasping for air to cool himself with—and aching all over in ways that would have tested him were his pain tolerance any lower. 

“Slag…” he breathed.

Megatron _chuckled_ behind him before pulling out, and the amount of motherfucking _fluids_ that poured out of him…

How was he ever going to clean this up? Especially without Sideswipe?

He really didn’t feel as concerned about that as he absolutely should have. But the afterglow, it was all too… _Afterglowy._ Really fucking with his priorities.

Plus he’d really need to figure out where the frag he was going to gather the strength to move himself from. 

“Did that feel good?” Megatron asked, and… Ah, _there_ came the strength. 

Sunstreaker lifted his arm with some effort, _one finger and a fist._

The tyrant straight up laughed at him this time, but Sunstreaker didn’t quite manage to scrounge up enough offense to do more than vaguely growl as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees. Megatron let him.

Sunstreaker would’ve asked if he had run out of stamina already, but pits, _Sunstreaker_ had run out of stamina, and he wasn’t sure he would survive another round even if Megatron was up for it.

So he shut his mouth, for once. 

“Do you need help covering up?” was the next question Megatron had, and Sunstreaker glanced back in surprise. Was he really offering?

“What do _you_ care about me covering up?” he asked, rolling onto his aft and flinching at the very real pain that bloomed at his bottom.

Right, his aft hurt. Rough landing onto it, that was all. _Not_ getting railed by one… Very strong individual, for sure not. 

“I believe your side would try to put a stop to this if they found out. And I rather _enjoy_ it,” Megatron gave as a reason, and yeah, that made sense.

Ha, Megatron enjoyed it. Sunstreaker smirked. “I’m just that good of a lay, am I?”

Megatron snorted. “What did you say? _‘Don’t flatter yourself’?_ Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Riiiiight.” About that cleaning, though. Sunstreaker pulled out a cloth from his subspace and began to wipe away the _excessive_ fluids covering his lower half, and scrub away the paint transfers.

Megatron straight up _helped_ him, at one point telling him to roll back over so he could get his behind where Sunstreaker wouldn’t have seen what the slag he was doing.

He tried very, very hard not to get turned right back on by it.

He wasn’t very successful, _but._ They didn’t devolve into more fucking that would’ve undone all of their _hard_ work, so there was that. 

“Until next time, Sunstreaker,” Megatron said in parting—and not without one more _scorching_ kiss that left him woozy in the head—before transforming and leaving Sunstreaker alone on the clearing that had come to look a little too much like the scene of a good frag. 

But there was no reason why he should’ve needed to tell his side where exactly he had been.

Driving wasn’t exactly an option though, and that was the crappy part about all of this. _Walking,_ through a goddamn _forest,_ back to where Sideswipe (and presumably the rest of his comrades by extension) was. 

Was it even _worth_ it? Pits, Skywarp could’ve at least bothered to warp him somewhere closer to the battlesite afterwards…

But Skywarp wasn’t here, and neither was anyone else for that matter. Sunstreaker huffed before he resigned himself to the trip he’d need to take and headed into the forest.

It was slagging _ages_ later that he finally made it so far that he could scan other Autobots, and they could scan him, and by that point Sunstreaker was thoroughly annoyed. At least there was no concern of others wondering why he was in such a good mood post-frag, because he was _not_ in a good mood anymore. 

He stomped out of the goddamn forest to Bluestreak running up to him. “Sunstreaker! There you are, we’ve been looking for you all over the place but Sideswipe’s out so we didn’t know where Skywarp teleported you but you’re here and are you alright–”

On and on he went. Sunstreaker tuned him out as Prowl and Optimus approached. “What happened to Sideswipe?” he asked, because he’d really love to know what the ‘Cons had fashioned to ‘deal with’ his twin.

“The Combaticons went after him after Skywarp teleported you away,” Prowl told with clear displeasure. No doubt having them out of the battle like that was a little too unexpected for his liking.

“Where did Skywarp take you? Are you alright?” Optimus asked, concern in his optics.

Sunstreaker scowled at him before marching straight past the lot of them to where he could see Ratchet crouched over Sideswipe. “To the other side of the whole goddamn planet, apparently! And then I had to _walk_ back. Through a motherfucking _forest._ The next time I see that slagger I’m ripping that whole warp drive straight out of him! How’s Sideswipe?”

Ratchet glanced up at him as he halted next to the medic and his extremely downed brother, his servos finding their way onto his hips.

Sideswipe looked slagging _terrible._ The Combaticons really had had a field day with him by the looks of things. 

Well, at least it had guaranteed an interruption free fuck– _No don’t fragging think about that in front of everyone._

His engine revved due to anger over his brother’s state. Yes. That was the reason.

“He’ll live,” Ratchet confirmed what Sunstreaker already knew. “None of his injuries are life threatening even on the long term, surprisingly.”

“Did you at least get the Combaticons off his aft?” Sunstreaker asked from Prowl as the tactician came closer for them all to prepare board Skyfire and head back to the Ark.

“Yes,” Prowl answered reluctantly, “but not soon enough.”

“Soon enough that they didn’t kill him,” Sunstreaker noted. Oh, they wouldn’t have, under Megatron’s orders no doubt, but the rest of them didn’t need to know that.

“True,” the Praxian conceded, watching Ratchet finish patching up the worst of Sideswipe’s injuries. He wouldn’t be bleeding all over the place anymore. As much, anyway.

“Are _you_ alright?” Ratchet asked from _him_ next, standing up to let Ironhide carry Sideswipe into Skyfire’s hold. Sunstreaker became the target of his scans at once and Ratchet scowled at the amount of dents on him.

And the claw marks.

“Nothing much more than a rough landing,” Sunstreaker lied with a straight face, standing still while Ratchet confirmed the non-severity of his injuries. “I think he just wanted to remove me from the battle instead of trying to do anything further than that after he succeeded in that. _Smart,_ for fucking once.” Skywarp wasn’t exactly known for his intelligence, but he wasn’t straight up suicidal in his stupidity, usually.

And trying to fight Sunstreaker one on one would’ve been suicidally stupid.

Ratchet grunted noncommittally at that before he came to the conclusion that Sunstreaker wasn’t in need of any immediate repairs and ushered him into Skyfire after everyone else.

The flight back to the Ark was uneventful. Ratchet kept watch over Sideswipe, just in case, and Sunstreaker leaned against the wall on his brother’s other side, not much fancying sitting down when his aft hadn’t stopped complaining about the treatment Megatron had given it. By just _fragging._ Not even spanking, or something.

...And it remained he should not let his thoughts go there around the other Autobots.

Sunstreaker tried to focus on Bluestreak’s voice instead, the gunner letting his vocalizer run a mile a minute as usual. He still struggled to maintain enough attention on it enough to actually follow the young Praxian’s one-sided conversation with Jazz, his thoughts just… Eager to wander.

_Damn Megatron._

* * *

Once Ratchet was fully satisfied that Sideswipe wouldn’t suddenly offline no matter what, his brother became the lowest priority patient on the grounds that he’d take the longest time to fix. Better to get everyone else out of the way before dedicating the time to that. Sunstreaker fell pretty far down the ladder too, because it was well known that he wasn’t leaving the medbay before Sideswipe was ready to leave with him.

Between Ratchet and First Aid, though, everyone else was fixed within a matter of hours and sent on their respective ways. Sunstreaker had had surprisingly much luck with just watching everything happen around him, instead of letting his thoughts go down some rather unacceptable tracks. The upside was that he wasn’t _inexplicably_ turned on by the time Ratchet stopped in front of him. “On the berth, let me deal with you next.”

Sunstreaker uncrossed his arms and hopped onto the berth next to Sideswipe’s, laying down for Ratchet’s inspection and following repairs.

Of course, that couldn’t go down without questions. “Did Skywarp do anything else to you after teleporting you away?”

“What does it look like? Got his claws on me. Then dropped me. Before I’d recovered from the warp, mind you.” 

Ratchet was prodding around the very deep cuts Megatron had left on his thigh, and… Well, his optics flicked to his interface paneling.

 _Scratched_ paneling. Ratchet had a glance at it, then his optics rose to Sunstreaker’s face. There wasn’t anything Sunstreaker would’ve called suspicion there, though. 

_Yet._ “Did he get to your cover too? That couldn’t have been comfortable.”

“No, pretty sure that was the trees.”

And what of his _lip?_ “Did you bite yourself when you fell, too?” Ratchet asked, frowning at his mouth.

That was a good explanation for it, actually. “Yeah. Like said, I hadn’t recovered from the warp,” Sunstreaker grumbled, averting his gaze with just the right amount of annoyance. “Not my best fall ever.”

“I would really prefer it if you had no falls whatsoever. What is with your obsession with heights when you can’t even facilitate flight?” Ratchet grumped, and Sunstreaker grinned. 

“What can I say, the scenery is _really_ nice rushing towards your face.”

He got whacked for that, and laughed at Ratchet’s glaring. Yeah, _not funny_ that he got injured and near-killed sometimes. 

It was kind of funny though.

And it looked like today was not the day anyone would start to suspect anything more than _Skywarp_ had happened. Praise Primus below.


	11. Am I Weak and Given to Lust?

Sideswipe was patched up all proper like after Sunstreaker had had all of his dents straightened out and his cut armor welded back together. There was a lot to repair in Sideswipe, but they were no strangers to that.

And when Sideswipe was brought back online, one of the first things he did was give Sunstreaker a _thoroughly_ knowing look.

Apparently the Combaticons had talked while fucking him up.

“I maaaaaybe didn’t fight as much as I could’ve-should’ve,” came Sideswipe’s confession once they were out of the medbay and back in their quarters. Enough to make it look like he was fighting, because it would’ve been real damn suspicious if he’d just allowed himself to get beaten for no apparent reason, but you know…

The Combaticons hadn’t necessarily gotten as served on the injuries as they might’ve otherwise, even if Sideswipe had never really stood a chance against a whole combiner team—or most of a team, not _all_ of them had been present according to Sideswipe’s testimony—even without them combining.

They were damn good fighters, but they weren’t invincible. And knew as much, no matter what some mecha thought. They just mistook _confidence_ for _arrogance._

Granted, Sunstreaker could get pretty arrogant too. One of his more lovable qualities.

As their species had no recovery time to speak of, they were both beyond fit for battle the next time the alarm came, despite that time only being a few _days_ later. The Decepticons were, by all appearances, very impatient when it came to this one thing they were after that the twins didn’t really give a damn about, as long as it meant they got to fight.

And… Well.

Apparently most of the Decepticons were aware of his and Megatron’s activities by now. Sunstreaker could only hope they’d keep their mouths shut around the other Autobots, but then Megatron had said he didn’t want to _end things._ It was in his best interests the Autobots didn’t find out, then, and he likely enforced that on his own troops.

Violently, if Sunstreaker knew anything about how the Decepticons ran. 

He did get a significant number of _leers_ during that battle, though. They got their faces punched in twice as hard for it.

And despite Prowl’s best orders, it was as if Soundwave was particularly intent on undoing the tactician’s plans this day—at least on a smaller scale.

On a _Sunstreaker sized scale,_ in fact. Sideswipe also _suspiciously_ failed every time he tried to intervene on Prowl’s orders, which all went to very handily place Sunstreaker _behind_ enemy lines.

This had happened before too. 

That time they’d gotten interrupted.

But Bruticus had combined, so Optimus was sure to be busy.

And Megatron hadn’t even shown his face in the entire battle. _Yet._ Sunstreaker hadn’t been sure if he was even present, but once a Seeker firing at him had driven him behind some buildings, out of sight… There he was indeed.

Megatron’s optics were burning on him and the Seekers that had been harassing— _herding_ —him did a disappearing trick. Sunstreaker spun his gun in his servo, entertaining the thought of shooting the tyrant like he absolutely _should_ have.

Just to see what he would have done.

“Not needed at the battle this time either?” he asked instead, not quite ready to stow the weapon away. It didn’t matter that he doubted Megatron was about to injure him, it was just the… Principle of things.

Nevermind he’d rather vocally asked to get fragged last time.

A slight miscalculation on his parth, nothing more.

“I will be soon,” Megatron answered this time, walking towards him like he didn’t have a single concern about getting shot at. And to be fair, Sunstreaker’s blaster wouldn’t have had the strength to seriously injure the warlord in just one or two shots. Now, if Megatron had decided to use that fusion cannon on him, on the other hand…

“And? Decided you had the time for a quick frag beforehand?” Sunstreaker didn’t back away.

He should have, but when had he ever done what he _should_ have?

Instead he stood his ground as Megatron stepped up to tower over him, craning his helm back to stare the tyrant in the optic and doing nothing—absolutely _nothing_ —as Megatron simply _plucked_ his gun from his servo and tossed it aside. “You don’t need that, hm, do you?” the warlord taunted him, and Sunstreaker’s mouth, traitorous fucking mouth twitched into a slight _smile._

This time there was a wall nearby, and in short order he was pinned against it, his legs around Megatron’s waist—again—and the despot’s lips on his, glossa forcing entry into his mouth—again.

They could be interrupted at any moment. Maybe the Decepticons would break rank and some of the Autobots would get through, or maybe Optimus would break away from the main fight to see if his nemesis was present—someone could come at any moment and see, fragging _see_ Sunstreaker there, pinned to a slagging wall by the unmaker himself, _moaning_ as Megatron plundered his mouth, _panting_ as the warlord slipped a servo to his valve cover and stuck his claws into the seams.

And they’d see Sunstreaker retracting that cover with minimal resistance— _but only because he didn’t want to talk about why it was missing, no other reason_ —fucking _see_ him arch into the tyrant as Megatron pushed his spike up into him.

Somehow the thought of how close to being discovered they were only made him run hotter. What would he do if someone did see them? Frag, he had no idea. Claim Megatron had forced him? While he was rocking his own hips _down_ into every punishing thrust up into him, his arms around Megatron’s neck to keep him close, keep their lips locked together, just so he could taste and tremble at the unspeakable, cruel _power_ aimed at him and no one else—in that moment, _no one else._

All fucking _his_ to take, his to experience.

Megatron drove into his body with the clear intent of achieving one fast, _rough_ overload, Sunstreaker’s back scraping against the wall behind him and ohh that would leave marks—he’d blame it on the Seekers and yell about it at no one in particular… But right then his thoughts were revolving too tightly around the pleasure building in his frame for him to do more than _snarl_ about it, Megatron’s engine rumbling his amusement back at him.

Then it climbed all the way to the top. “Don’t scream,” Megatron whispered at him as his overload lashed through him. Sunstreaker ground his denta together, but silenced his vocalizer despite the charge that crackled all throughout him with all the strength of a bolt of lightning. He could _smell_ something burning, but felt no pain—only mind shattering pleasure, as per usual with Megatron.

Apparently a little additional danger of discovery really got him going even harder than the warlord did otherwise.

Megatron shoved him against the wall at the same time as he shoved _into_ him sharp enough to sting, and then Megatron’s overload washed over him, alighting sensors that had barely finished dispersing their own charge. It all traveled into his core and triggered another, smaller overload that had his exvents steaming, his limbs fragging weak from just that.

But it didn’t matter when Megatron kept him pinned to the wall, grinding their arrays together.

* * *

“Have you thought about what I said?” the tyrant spoke up once they were back to cleaning themselves out.

 _“Which part_ of what you’ve said?” Sunstreaker asked with a huff, trying to wipe away enough of the mess in his valve to keep it from leaking straight past the seams of his panel once he closed it. Or what would he say otherwise? Battles just turned him on _that hard?_

Probably wouldn’t even be hard to believe…

“Your glitch,” Megatron clarified, and ah, how could Sunstreaker forget what had put an end to the fight that had led to their first time?

 _Was it something to get better from,_ yeah yeah. He had thought about it.

He didn’t really want to admit to thinking about anything Megatron related, but, “It’s dangerous,” he said nevertheless. That wasn’t _too_ much of an admission, was it? Just a statement of fact.

 _“Power_ is dangerous,” Megatron said back at him, and oh, hadn’t Sunstreaker found that to be _titillatingly_ true. “That doesn’t mean it should be feared.”

Sunstreaker growled. “I don’t _fear_ it.”

“I never said _you_ did.”

He faltered, glancing up to see Megatron looking down at him. The tyrant was already presentable, but then _he_ wasn’t the one who had had what felt like fucking _gallons_ pumped up his valve.

Sunstreaker narrowed his optics, but said nothing. Megatron continued, “Your comrades, they do, _don’t they?”_

Well… “Probably,” Sunstreaker responded reluctantly, returning to his cleaning. Where the slag was Megatron going with this?

Megatron didn’t get a chance to clarify on that point, because there was a VOP and suddenly, _a Skywarp._

The Seeker saluted, playfully. “One Prime, headed this way,” he reported, grinning at Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker scowled back but quickly ran the cloth over his valve one more time before tossing it into his subspace and closing his cover.

“Get him somewhere less… _Incriminating,”_ Megatron ordered the purple flier before the tyrant began to march around the building, probably to meet Optimus before Optimus could get to the scraped wall and the… Puddles.

Gah.

“Oh... No no no!” Sunstreaker had enough time to fetch his gun, but Skywarp was headed for him, and he knew how this was going to go. “Don’t you fragging dar–!”

But Skywarp had his orders that he followed through with _gleefully,_ grabbing a hold of Sunstreaker’s arm and _VOP._

* * *

For the sake of making things look _authentic,_ Skywarp teleported them midair and then dropped him. And this time the long, long fall down wasn’t a lie, and neither would the hard landing have been if Sideswipe hadn’t swooped in to catch him at the last meters.

The whole thing didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense if anyone stopped to think about it, but it was an easy story to spin that the Decepticons hadn’t been as successful in their campaign to injure and potentially kill him as they would have liked, despite getting him trapped where no Autobot could reasonably reach to help him. And after getting more than they bargained from, Skywarp had swooped in to remove him from the situation so as to spare his allies further injuries.

Optimus apologized profusely for not making it to the scene earlier despite his attempts. Sunstreaker growled back at that with his usual temper, saying everything about how he could handle it, and no word about how _happy_ he was the Prime hadn’t made it any damn sooner. 

To the surprise of everyone but him and Sideswipe, all of his injuries were strictly superficial or ones his self-repair could handle fine on its own, according to Ratchet’s very quick inspection. Bruticus had done a number on some of his comrades, Bluestreak had nearly gotten offlined… Ratchet had more pressing concerns than Sunstreaker.

After First Aid had given Sideswipe a quick patch up, they were told to deal with the rest of the scratched up plating themselves; those didn’t need a medic’s touch. 

And then… Things quieted down and fell back to their usual grooves. The Decepticons didn’t attack anything for a few weeks. There were duties, patrols… But none on routes that he would have expected Megatron to make an appearance on. They didn’t get chances to go very far off duty either.

Sunstreaker wasn’t quite as frustrated over that as he had half expected himself to be. But really, they’d had two spectacular frags almost back to back. He’d be riding that high for a while still.

* * *

“Come on, I know you want to,” Sideswipe grinned at him one night in the rec room. Sunstreaker could feel his intent, but although he cocked an optical ridge at his twin… It wasn’t like Sideswipe was _wrong._ How could he be? That just didn’t _happen_ between them.

So Sunstreaker let himself be tugged from the rec room after they’d finished their cubes. Sideswipe turned down one invitation for a game night on their way to their quarters. Tonight would be a _them_ night. They weren’t scheduled for anything in the morning. They could stay up late, spend some quality time together… Spark to spark.

Like twins did.

The door had barely closed behind them when Sideswipe had already turned to him, their lips pressing together with familiarity. Sideswipe’s lips were smooth and soft, a stark contrast to Megatron—but he didn’t spare many thoughts to Megatron when it was _Sideswipe_ against him, running his servos along his armor, stroking his digits along seams in a way he knew Sunstreaker loved.

And Sunstreaker returned the favor as he was pushed, backwards, to their bunk. Sideswipe shoved him down on the bottom berth, grinning down at him in that careless Sideswipe way—mixed with affection, this time, the kind only aimed at Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker had the time to growl before Sideswipe moved to join him, climbing into his lap and continuing right where they’d left off, his lips first brushing against Sunstreaker’s cheek before Sunstreaker turned his helm and captured them with his own. Sideswipe was purring, Sunstreaker was rumbling—and he let Sideswipe push him down the rest of the way, his brother straddling his hips and leaning down with him.

They weren’t in a rush, they really weren’t, but… The promise of _wholeness_ had the both of them impatient.

It was a laughably short time later that Sideswipe’s chestplates were already parting, his internals shifting out of the way, spark chamber pushing forward—and Sunstreaker matched him until the pale blue of their spark illuminated the space between them.

But a second before their spark halves would have surged together as they were wont to do, Sideswipe pulled back, smiling a wide smile down at him.

Although his engine was growling with a denied satisfaction, _relief,_ Sunstreaker let him, his digits merely flexing on Sideswipe’s hips. Sideswipe smoothed his servos along the edges of Sunstreaker’s split chestplates, then dipped them inward, towards his spark… Until he carefully brushed his digits against it. Sunstreaker’s back arched up to the contact, and Sideswipe’s touch, it would never ever be unwelcome, even on his very core.

Twins, as they were.

It wasn’t about the pleasure, never had been, but about the _intimacy._ He didn’t think either of them was physically capable of turning the other on, but that didn’t mean they didn’t enjoy the sensual side of the relationship _two frames_ could have.

This was just between them—reserved just for them. Sunstreaker’s servos traveled up Sideswipe’s side, his thumbs flirting with the edges of his chest cavity–

But then, _alarm._

Sunstreaker’s optics instantly focused on Sideswipe, his brother staring at his spark, and that was all they needed. Two frames, but one spark, one will, one mind—what Sideswipe saw was what Sunstreaker saw, what Sideswipe knew was what Sunstreaker knew.

And now _they_ knew—found out, _discovered—_ and pits…

 _Consequences,_ huh?

“Sunny…” Sideswipe’s voice shivered in a way that was nothing like him, “We’re effing screwed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about to get REAL.


	12. Am I Strong to Do What I Must?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unsurprisingly the twins discuss abortion in this one, if that makes you uncomfortable.

_Fuck._

It didn’t matter how many more times Sideswipe scanned it. Sunstreaker had spent enough time _familiarizing_ himself with Megatron to recognize the remnants of his spark signature in the… Sparklet.

Because there it was, orbiting his own spark, a tiny, tiny little sparkling, small enough to barely even be visible from the glow of his larger spark.

But Sideswipe knew _exactly_ what his spark was supposed to look like. Small as it was, the little oddity jumped right into his face with how _not there_ it was supposed to be. 

“You can’t feel it yet.” It wasn’t a question. Sideswipe didn’t need to ask things like that. It was just a statement.

They couldn’t feel it yet. Pits, wouldn’t he have fragging _noticed_ it otherwise? That, combined with its size… They didn’t exactly know much about carrying, but common sense said it meant it was still very, very young. 

He wished they would’ve known a bit more about how these things worked, right then. What did it mean if it was so young its emotions weren’t even leaking into him yet? Was it alright despite that?

_What the pit were they going to do with it?_

If it had been another Autobot’s… The question would have still remained _how,_ but at least… It would have been another Autobot’s. Completely unplanned and unexpected, but slag, they could’ve worked with that.

How the hell were they supposed to work with _this?_

And _how?_ How the pit had it even come to be when he’d had his inhibitor on the whole–

Sideswipe’s optics flicked up to meet his with a wave of horrid realization when he went to check on his inhibitor. It didn’t report as online.

It didn’t report as offline, either.

It was as if it didn’t even _exist._

But that couldn’t be it. He’d had it his whole life like every damn mech out there, and he’d _never_ turned it off. Becoming a parent had never exactly been something he was planning to do. Maybe _one_ day, if the circumstances changed that drastically, but not in the foreseeable future.

The damn thing couldn’t have just _disappeared_ into thin air.

“Let me have a look,” Sideswipe murmured quietly, and Sunstreaker let his spark chamber cycle closed. Sideswipe’s servo dipped into his chest cavity and cautiously pushed aside his internals until he could see the little device nestled to the side of his spark chamber.

Then he grimaced at what they saw.

Charred, black. It had gotten burned so spectacularly that it hadn’t even given a damage report or any manner of errors. 

Well. That explained that. What had burned it would’ve also been _very_ nice to know, but for that they would’ve likely needed a _medic’s_ opinion, and–

What? Could they just waltz into the medbay, ‘hey, I just noticed I’m carrying, how does this whole thing work?’ If the sire was an Autobot, then… Sure, what the fuck else could they have done.

But the sire was _Megatron._ Their whole… _Relationship_ would have come to light if they did that—or else they would have needed to claim Megatron had _forced_ him.

Two problems with that: one, he had too much _pride_ to feel comfortable claiming he’d gotten fragging _raped,_ even if it was by someone who everyone would believe had enough strength to do it, and even if he knew Ratchet would keep that information to as few mecha as possible.

And _two,_ the greater reason… His memory files didn’t support that. He could lie, but if they wanted to have a look in his head to confirm how things had gone… It’d become damn obvious he was full of shit and had all but jumped at the opportunity to frag Megatron. He hadn’t exactly resisted. Hell, he’d _very explicitly_ told Megatron to ‘face him, even if that was in the heat of the moment.

It was all very damning evidence _against_ him. What would the command do if they found out about that dalliance? What would they do to _him?_

What would they do to the sparklet?

What would _they_ do to the sparklet, him and Sideswipe?

“I could… Snuff it, right?” Sideswipe whispered quietly, barely audible. “It’s so small and so young. Is it even aware enough to notice?”

_Kill it_ and pretend none of this had happened.

Sunstreaker bared his spark again and Sideswipe gently turned it until he could see the sparkling. He brushed his digit against the minuscule ball of light, _infinitely_ gentle with the motion.

The sparklet bobbed slightly in its orbit, but remained unresponsive otherwise. 

It would be so easy. Take a hold of it, squeeze.

Crush it.

Everything would go back to normal. Or… As normal as it got after you’d _repeatedly_ had illicit relations with the leader of the enemy faction.

Why did he… _Not_ want that? Oh, undoing all of this, securing the relative normalcy of his life, that he wanted. 

But not at the cost of the sparkling.

_Why?_

Sunstreaker brought his servos to his face and groaned into them. It was _his,_ wasn’t it? 

Why did that _matter?_

He didn’t want to get rid of it. Sideswipe pulsed understanding and acceptance at him for that, even if they didn’t _understand._

Didn’t understand why he didn’t want to get rid of it. Doing that, _just one small act,_ it would have solved all of the problems the sparklet brought about. 

But no.

He wanted no harm to come to it… From _any_ direction. Not from himself.

Not from the other Autobots.

Would _they_ try to force him to get rid of it? Or would they try to do something to _Sunstreaker_ that would also endanger it? 

Would they just let him keep it, even though it was of the _enemy?_

He had no idea. He had no fucking idea how things like this would be handled by the command, or what the damn Autobot code said to do in situations like these—and would it even be followed in this instance. This wasn’t any small infraction easily paid for with a few punishments, and not just _any_ Decepticon involved in this mess.

The other party was _Megatron._

Was there anything worse an Autobot even could do? Straight up defect, maybe.

Ratchet… Medical confidentiality was a thing, but he doubted it would cover _everything._ Somehow he got the feeling it wouldn’t cover _this,_ if the identity of the sparkling’s sire became known. And it would eventually, wouldn’t it? Even if Ratchet kept it a secret at first… He couldn’t exactly forever pretend he wasn’t carrying. It would become painfully obvious even before he’d need to deliver the sparkling. 

And _everyone_ would want to know who the fuck had sired it. What could he answer to that? _Refuse_ to answer until the end of time?

Wouldn’t they find out eventually, one way or another? And then they’d be back at it: _what would they do to him, and it._

“We can’t tell anyone,” Sunstreaker muttered into his servos, but it didn’t matter if the words were even audible or understandable when the only one meant to hear them was Sideswipe. “Can we?”

“Even if we don’t…” Sideswipe didn’t need to finish it.

Even if they didn’t, _it would announce itself eventually._

But just… Pushing that date even a bit further into the future. Maybe they’d have a better idea of what to do then. Think on it, consider their crappy options…

“What about–” Sideswipe didn’t need to finish that either.

It was _Megatron’s_ sparkling too.

Sunstreaker growled. “He’s the damn reason for this.” Who the fuck had initiated their affair? Wasn’t Sunstreaker! He hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to _prevent_ all of it from happening, but if it wasn’t for _Megatron_ starting it all, he would _not_ have fragged the damn despot.

If it wasn’t for Megatron, this very much would not have had a chance to happen.

“Should we tell _him?”_ his brother asked next, gently brushing the sparkling again. Sunstreaker shivered at the feeling, but his face twisted into a snarl—that wasn’t aimed at Sideswipe, or the little thing.

Tell Megatron? Wouldn’t have to worry about the secrecy of their fucking on that front. Was there any reason _not_ to do that? What would they gain by trying to keep it a secret from the tyrant too?

Oh no, “That fragger will hear a fucking _load_ of this,” Sunstreaker growled. Hear _all_ about how he was at fault and what Sunstreaker thought about this whole thing, get all of the fucking blame he justly deserved _dumped_ on him. 

He had no idea where that would get him, but at least it would be satisfying.

“What if _he_ says to get rid of it?” Sideswipe asked carefully. They’d already established they didn’t want that, so…

“He can go slagging frag himself.” Not like it burdened _Megatron_ at all. He wasn’t the one committing treason and desperately trying to keep it a secret. Megatron set the rules for his side. He could do what he wanted, and was there even anyone who could have tried to tell him otherwise? So what if he knocked up one low ranking Autobot. Was there anyone who could have brought _him_ to justice?

“What if he tries to force the matter?” the red twin continued. Megatron was strong enough to do that, for sure.

But really, Sunstreaker had had it up to _here_ by this point. “Then he can fragging well _kill me,”_ he snarled. Sure, maybe he wouldn’t be able to stop Megatron if the mech really set his mind to something. He might even pay for it with his life.

That didn’t mean he’d go down without one goddamned good _fight._

How would Megatron react to these news? He had no slagging clue, but it was _Sunstreaker’s_ frame and _Sunstreaker’s_ life, and as little as he expected Megatron to respect that unless he _wanted_ to… 

Oh, that bastard would get a fucking _earful_ before he got a chance to send Sunstreaker back to the Well.

So was that it? Tell no Autobot but tell Megatron, and see where that took them?

Sunstreaker let his servos slip from his face and met Sideswipe’s optics. His brother nodded minutely—in for it, come hell or high water. 

Their chestplates closed, hiding their newest little secret behind layers of heavy armor.


	13. Falling to Pieces

The biggest hurdle would be Ratchet—or really, the whole medical team. When they did a thorough inspection of your frame to make sure they would catch all damage you’d sustained… Sunstreaker wasn’t all too hopeful that they wouldn’t notice there was something _extra_ he was lugging around. 

The sparkling… It was so easy to ignore. He couldn’t feel it in any way, not even when he focused. He wasn’t sure if that was how it was supposed to be at this stage of things, but it almost made everything feel like just one particularly bad dream.

It wasn’t a bad dream, though, because every time the disbelief got the better of him, all Sideswipe needed to do was a visual inspection, and there it was every time. Repeat that enough times and he couldn’t deny it anymore even without physical reminders of its existence. 

But if even he, its carrier, couldn’t tell it was _there_ without going out of his way to confirm that much… At least he could feel comforted that there was really no one else who would be able to tell either. Its signature was so small that it was impossible to detect it unless his chestplates were parted and his spark chamber open, and you really _focused_ on it. They’d tested that out, several times.

So… Unless he needed to go through large repairs… It was likely to remain a secret.

For now.

Unfortunately there was this little thing called _war_ going on, and him and Sideswipe were at the frontlines of it. He couldn’t suddenly stop fighting with their usual recklessness just to avoid sustaining the kind of injuries that would lead to the uncovering of the sparklet. That’d only make everyone suspicious, and then what? They’d want to know the reason for the change in his behavior.

At that point it wouldn’t just be limited to the medical team anymore.

He had to fight and risk the injuries. 

And hope the fact he was even more _irritable_ on the Ark than what he usually was would go unnoticed, or at least ignored. He had a bad temper to begin with, right? So it wasn’t that unusual for him to be in a bad mood, _right?_ Even if this was extended… He hit those spells sometimes too, even without _sparklings._ He’d be perpetually annoyed and angry and treated everyone accordingly.

It did have the positive side effect that everyone but Sideswipe started to avoid him and his constant snapping and physical threats. All the better to keep enough distance to lower the already next to nonexistent chances that just anyone would take notice of the little one. 

Sideswipe compensated by being even more friendly than usual, as he always did. That was the _good part_ about Sunstreaker’s moods: it had his other half turning into even better company than he usually was, all in the name of maintaining their balance. Sideswipe acted agreeable with everyone, but the real target of it was Sunstreaker—everything to prevent his brother from setting him off.

It wasn’t that Sideswipe feared his retaliation, but it wasn’t _them_ to just ignore the other’s moods and not respond to them. Sideswipe was the more stable of them as far as his emotional life went, a surface breezer whose emotions never lasted long and that he never felt too strongly. It was _Sunstreaker_ that dipped deep in everything he did and felt with explosive intensity. 

Sideswipe didn’t need his balancing near as often, was the end result. 

But as much as Sideswipe responded to him… It only worked _between_ them. It didn’t save anyone around them, but they had been with this crew long enough that mecha had learned a thing or two about Sunstreaker and his temperament.

Get out of the way, stay out of the way. Don’t engage lest you wanted to risk a _thorough_ slagging.

Really only Cliffjumper never did the smart thing, and he was the one who got sent to the medbay by Sunstreaker this time too.

He enjoyed himself, ripping into the minibot. Sure, it landed him in the brig, but fuck, it was worth it.

There was sparring too, but… He tried to hold back there, at least enough to keep it as _sparring_ instead of something real bloody. He didn’t want to end up with anything worth a proper medbay visit if he could avoid it, sue him.

And for a time he _could_ avoid it. There were two battles, weeks apart from each other, but Sunstreaker managed to make it through both of them mostly unscathed. They weren’t particularly big battles anyway, but rather small and quick clashes to thwart the Decepticons’ plans of the day.

 _Megatron_ was present in them, too, but this time there was no one to give him a chance for some _alone time_ with the warlord. Megatron was distracted and busy, both fights, first with directing his troops, then with fighting Optimus, because the motherfucking _Prime_ just couldn’t keep his servos off of him. 

Those battles did nothing to burn the frustrated energy in him, and he was fuming by the end of them. Did Megatron even notice the vicious glares sent his way? Sunstreaker wasn’t sure, but fraggit, he _would_ still get a chance to tear the mech a new one. It was only a matter of time until Megtron found a way to arrange another _meeting_ with him, wasn’t it? He’d want to _‘face_ again because he had given no indication he was interested in ending their affair.

Oh, he’d be in for one motherfucking _surprise._ And there’d be no fragging. Sunstreaker was in no mood for any fragging with the goddamn mech who had landed him in this predicament.

Or with anyone else, for that matter. Fuck the lot of them.

With his _attitude,_ he didn’t exactly get any offers either, which worked for him just fine. 

But for as long as they managed to keep things hidden… It was never going to last.

Getting in the way of Devastator? Not his best show ever. In his defense the slagging Constructicons combined right next to him, and then there was no time to get out of the way anymore.

Sunstreaker was good, but he wasn’t ‘takes down combiners on their own’ good. It was really only thanks to Sideswipe that the brain deficient giant didn’t straight up kill him before Superion formed and drew his attention.

The joys of having a twin.

Unfortunately… He ended up scrapped. Thoroughly scrapped. Sideswipe used the mobility afforded to him by his limited flight ability to get him the fuck away from the main fight and behind the Autobot gunners where Ratchet could safely see to him, before his brother zipped back into the fight.

Ratchet was cursing, although that registered pretty distantly through the utter _pain_ that throbbed in his frame. It had really been a while since he’d gotten slagged this badly.

The clouds were pretty, though.

“I’ll put you into stasis, alright? Sunstreaker?”

It took some effort to focus on Ratchet. The medic was looking down at him with a frown.

Right. Stasis. “Ugh, whatever,” was all Sunstreaker had to say to that, letting his gaze slip back to the clouds far above. It’d be nice to not hurt, so that’d be the upside–

Ratchet forced medical stasis on his systems, and everything went dark.

* * *

“–I need to know who the sire is!”

Those were the words his systems onlined to. 

“What does it matter?” Sideswipe, growling.

Sideswipe rarely growled.

Sunstreaker’s optics fluttered open and he proceeded to do just what he’d done before he’d fallen into stasis, which was stare straight up. This time there were no clouds though, only the bright orange ceiling of the Ark’s medical bay. 

And he was _fucked._ Oh, physically he was in excellent condition. Ratchet had patched him right up. It was like he was never even injured, as was the norm with a medic of Ratchet’s caliber.

But he was fucked.

He was so, so fucked.

“The sire has the right to– Good, Sunstreaker, you’re online.” Ratchet didn’t sound the _least_ bit happy. He stepped into Sunstreaker’s field of view. Sideswipe was standing on the berth’s other side, a deep frown etched on his features.

Ratchet wore a similar expression. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re carrying, Sunstreaker?”

What was he expecting? He’d already asked that from Sideswipe.

The answer Sideswipe had given was the same Sunstreaker gave. He glared at the medic, a growl rising in his engine. “Because it’s no one’s fragging _business,_ alright?”

Ratchet’s frown deepened. “As your physician, it is my fragging business!” the medic said back at him. Primus, he was pissed off. “Have you let the sire know about this? They have a right to the sparkling as well!”

Sunstreaker brought an arm up and dragged his servo down his face. _Unicron smite him._ “No, I haven’t told the sire.” Wow, he didn’t even need to lie about that.

Their _favorite_ medic growled at him. “Who is the sire? Do you know?”

...It was an option to not know? That was convenient. “No, I don’t even slagging know.”

Unfortunately, Ratchet didn’t buy that, which wasn’t too much of a surprise. “You’re lying,” he said, _stated,_ and Sunstreaker snarled a little harder. His glare was a savage thing, but Ratchet wasn’t any more cowed than he ever was. “Sunstreaker. _Who is the sire?”_ Ratchet demanded, leaning on the berth he was laying on and staring intently down at him, as if he could will Sunstreaker into telling.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen.

Sunstreaker scowled. “None. Of. Your. _Business.”_

Ratchet threw his arms up, frustration written all over his expression, body language, and _field._ “Why won’t you even tell me? Even if you’re so _bent_ on not letting the sire know, I am bound by medical confidentiality, you know that.”

They did know. Sunstreaker huffed and turned his gaze to the side, crossing his arms over his chassis and glaring at nothing in particular. Sideswipe was standing, but otherwise his pose and expression were identical.

Yeah, they weren’t particularly happy to be in this situation right now. 

Ratchet waited a moment, but when neither of them broke the silence, the medic eventually repeated Sunstreaker’s gesture and scrubbed a hand down his face. A deep sigh ran from his vents, but it seemed he was finally ready to give up. He and Sideswipe had had the time to argue for a lengthy amount of time before Sunstreaker even onlined, anyway, with no success on Ratchet’s part.

This was one thing where they couldn’t budge. Medical confidentiality or not… He doubted Ratchet could keep the identity of the sire _confidential_ if he became privy to it, just because of _who_ the sire was. Sure Ratchet would need to let someone know one of their soldiers was dallying with _Megatron,_ of all mecha.

If it just wasn’t Megatron… If it was almost anyone else, then this wouldn’t be such a problem. He’d still get in trouble for sleeping with the enemy, no fragging doubt about that, but with someone else it’d still be a _lesser_ offense. 

At least, he thought so.

He wasn’t really willing to test how right or wrong he was about that.

No, not Ratchet, not _anyone_ could learn who the sire was. Not on this side of the war. 

“Well,” Ratchet broke the silence after what felt like a small eternity, “the sparkling is healthy and developing as it should.”

That was… A relief to hear, at the very least. “I would prefer it if you came for regular checkups to follow the progress of its… Growth.”

Right, because what he wanted to do was spend even more time around Ratchet on the topic of the little surprise he had. But… It would be nice to know the sparkling was developing as it should. Primus knew he himself had no idea what ‘how it should’ entailed. 

Sunstreaker grunted, not saying yay or nay to that. If Ratchet could keep his questions to himself, then sure, why the fuck not, but he wasn’t too willing to get bombarded with more demands to disclose who the slag had ignited him. 

“Unless you want to abort it.”

His optics snapped to Ratchet at that, surprise written all over both twins’ faces—something that quickly morphed back into frowns.

He should have expected that would come up again. It _was_ an option, wasn’t it?

But one they had already discarded. “No,” Sunstreaker responded, averting his gaze again and refusing to fidget. “I don’t want to abort it.”

He probably should’ve done that. It would make all of this _go away._ It would be the smart thing to do, really, assuming he wanted to _not_ get court martialed at some point—assuming he wanted to keep his life as it had been up to this point. Things didn’t _need_ to change and go so far South there’d be no traveling back North from there. 

But no. He didn’t want to… Harm it. Kill it.

It was slagging _his,_ wasn’t it?

“Very well.” Ratchet didn’t try to convince him in any direction on that front, just threw the option out there. Sunstreaker was grateful for that much, but… Would Ratchet have pressed the issue if he knew who the frag the sire was? How much would that knowledge have changed things?

There was no getting over or around the fucking fact that the _sire_ was the worst possible mech there was.

Yeah, he was fucked. So fucking fucked.

“Can we still merge?” Sideswipe asked. “Without hurting it?”

Sunstreaker glanced back to Ratchet at the inquiry. The medic nodded. “Since you can’t overload each other, it won’t affect the sparkling in any way.”

“‘Kay, cool.”

That was nice, at least. It would’ve _sucked_ to be denied merging for the years the sparkling was going to take to… Frag, was he already thinking about it reaching maturity and separating?

_Maybe he should worry about the near future first._

“Are we free to go?” Sunstreaker asked. Ratchet stared at him for a moment longer before the medic reluctantly nodded.

“You’re fully repaired and fit for duty. But I _can_ pull you from active duty if you’d rather stay out of battles for the… Safety of the sparkling.”

And announce it to the whole world _that something was up?_ “No thanks,” Sunstreaker said, and Sideswipe nodded along.

Ratchet sighed, but nodded his acquiescence to that. “Then you’re free to go.”

That was all the prompting they needed. Sunstreaker swung his legs over the edge of the berth and dropped down, and without a backwards glance the brothers hurried out of the medbay.

They needed fuel, so the rec room became their destination despite Sunstreaker’s yearning to just go to their goddamn quarters, out of sight, and… Then what? He had no idea. Enjoy the silence, probably.

The fact he was carrying was turning more and more real by the moment, as were the… Realizations of how much it was bound to change his life. And not really for the better, as far as he could see. 

What a mess they were stuck in.

And now someone _knew._ Now Ratchet fucking knew, and while the medic would need to keep quiet about it… That was still one mech too many aware of what was happening in his frame.

At least the sparklet was healthy. That was a more comforting thought than he had expected it to be.

They made their way to the corner table they frequented, and Sunstreaker’s scowling kept everyone else at a fair distance despite the fact Sideswipe, the social magnet, was sitting right next to him. They didn’t talk as they sipped their ratios.

Just… Thought.

Was there any chance in hell they could tell Ratchet the truth? They trusted Ratchet more than they trusted any other mech out there, but this… Frag, this was a little too big for even that level of trust. 

He couldn’t believe Ratchet could keep it a secret with them. Just couldn’t. There had to be some sort of protocol he’d have to follow—inform Optimus, or Jazz, or _someone,_ medical confidentiality be damned. How the pit could he be allowed to keep this level of treachery a secret without becoming an _accomplice_ himself? Would Ratchet do that for them?

He wasn’t about to test that out. It was too risky.

This was all… Slag. There was no way to keep it a secret _forever._ No fucking way.

What would they do when that became impossible?

Would they worry about it later? They had no clue what to do about it _now._ Maybe… Maybe they should just let things roll under their own weight and see where that took them, under the lack of any better ideas.

And tell _Megatron._


	14. Sins of the Father

From there on… They tried to get the longest patrols, and spent every day off driving behind god’s back.

The _why_ was obvious enough. They had a _little something_ to discuss with Megatron, and by Primus the tyrant _would_ eventually give them the time of day. He just needed the _opportunities_ and the promise of a nice fuck should draw him out.

That had worked before, hadn’t it? 

So that’s what they did.

It was only a couple of weeks later that they saw results. It was evening, the sun on its downward arc as they drove along the mountain roads they favored and that had the double use of being rarely used and full of locations they could be… _Intercepted_ in. 

He was tense and hopeful even as they sped along, racing each other like they always did, taking too many risks, sometimes nearly driving off the road entirely. If Prowl had seen them they’d be in _so_ much trouble. 

But the roads were quiet and empty, there was no one to interrupt them—up until the moment there _was._

The signature appeared on their scanners suddenly, like objects moving at high speeds had a habit of doing. It sped towards them and the twins braked into screeching stops next to a landing overlooking the valley down below, but with how _fast_ Megatron was moving, all of them transformed at the same time—the twins to stand, and Megatron a few feet above ground to drop down.

The ground shook beneath the weight of his landing. Sunstreaker tried not to let that _get_ to him. 

Soundwave was there, too. The TIC fell from Megatron’s interior to similarly transform midair, falling onto his pedes next to his leader.

And that was probably a good thing. Soundwave could be useful in all of this, what with basically being a walking talking lie detector.

Here they were, then. Just as he’d wanted, just as he’d waited.

He reveled in the moment, in the chance to finally… _Air_ everything. Talk freely, fragging let his _feelings_ be known, not try to keep things a _secret_ and holding everything back and bottling the lot of it up to avoid drawing anyone’s suspicions–

Frag, he was _tired_ of that. Tired of the pretenses he’d need to keep up for… What, how long?

_How long?_

_“You motherfucker,”_ Sunstreaker snarled the moment all of them were firmly on their pedes, stalking towards the tyrant. Megatron cocked an optical ridge at him, and although it was muted, Sunstreaker was _pretty_ sure he was surprised by the aggression aimed at him.

But before Megatron even got the chance to open his mouth, Sunstreaker skipped to the _point._ “You knocked me up!”

His voice echoed between the mountains, followed by _dead_ silence. Soundwave was as unreadable as he always was, but this time there was no mistaking Megatron’s surprise. The warlord’s optics widened just so, his field pulsed, he leaned back on his pedes—and Sunstreaker took some pleasure in having caught the damn fragger off guard.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to happen next, he really wasn’t. How were you even supposed to react to news like that? In circumstances like these?

Megatron chose _disbelief._ He only needed a few seconds to gather himself, and then his optics narrowed down at Sunstreaker. _“Prove it.”_

That last bit, that he wasn’t so prepared for. Sunstreaker’s frown deepened and his growl increased in volume. Both twins glanced at _Soundwave,_ but the telepath made no move to confirm they were speaking the truth.

And it wasn’t like Megatron wasn’t well aware Soundwave was on the scene and could read all the minds he wanted to. He asked for proof from _Sunstreaker_ despite that.

If that’s how he wanted to play it… Fucking _fine._

Sunstreaker’s optics snapped back to Megatron, and with another snarl that rattled his entire frame he unlocked his chestplates—let them transform aside, let his internals shift out of the way, let his spark chamber push forward, let it open… Bared his goddamn _spark_ with challenge in his optics.

To Megatron’s credit, he took it in a stride and didn’t let himself be caught by surprise again. Or maybe he’d expected that would be the method Sunstreaker chose to _prove it._ Slag if he knew.

The tyrant came down on one knee to have an actual chance to see his spark, considerably shorter than him as Sunstreaker was. The sparkling had grown to be a bit more visible, even to someone not Sideswipe. Sunstreaker knew that much because they had kept an eye on it, almost obsessively.

There it was, still. Slowly rotating around his own spark. There was no _denying_ it existed. 

And Megatron saw it too. Sunstreaker could _see_ the moment Megatron saw it reflected on his face. Again, surprise, and a play of emotions in his field that Sunstreaker couldn’t keep up with.

He could feel Megatron scan it, and he knew he’d find his own spark signature in it—mingled with Sunstreaker’s to create something _new_ and unique, a little combination of the both of them.

“What happened to your inhibitor?” Megatron asked as he rose back up. Sunstreaker took that as a sign his spark was of no interest anymore and closed his chest back up.

“It got fried,” he grumbled as the clang and click of his chestplates locking sounded.

Megatron didn’t believe him right away, though. “Is he speaking the truth?” the tyrant asked from Soundwave, drawing everyone’s optics to the telepath.

Sunstreaker knew he was telling the goddamned _truth,_ but he still waited for Soundwave’s answer anxiously. For all he knew the host might just straight up lie about it and say Sunstreaker had orchestrated the whole thing—just turned off his inhibitor to get sparked.

Why would he have done that? No fragging clue… But Soundwave didn’t lie. “Sunstreaker: speaks truth,” the TIC instead confirmed.

Megatron nodded at him, accepting that as an answer. 

Then… Nothing. 

Megatron did nothing following that. Just… Looked at them. _Both_ of them, his optics passing between Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, his brother hanging back just like Soundwave was hanging back. Megatron’s expression was unreadable, guarded. Sunstreaker could feel Sideswipe’s caution and the concern that things would go _very_ badly from here on. 

Sunstreaker? He was still too damn angry to give a fuck. _“Well?”_ he asked after the silence had stretched on for too long, glaring up at the tyrant. 

Megatron frowned back at him, crossing his arms across his chest. “What do you want to do about it?” he asked.

And… That was about the last thing Sunstreaker had expected out of him. What did _Sunstreaker_ want? When had that even been a concern?

What _did_ he want?

Ugh, damn it all. When had things gotten so _complicated?_

Sunstreaker’s gaze dropped and he shifted his weight from pede to pede. Sideswipe took a few steps closer, although he halted when Megatron’s optics briefly visited him.

And Soundwave did and said not one thing.

“...I don’t want to get rid of it,” Sunstreaker replied at length. And this was _that_ moment, wasn’t it? The one where they’d find out if Megatron wanted him to do just that, anyway.

They were tense seconds that they waited for Megatron’s response. Sideswipe was staring at the warlord, but there was really nothing to see on his face, or anything to teek in his field.

Megatron was the image of _composure_ right then, and Sunstreaker really wished he wasn’t. He’d fragging love to know even a bit of what was going on in the slagger’s thick helm.

Instead all they could do was wait and see. 

“Have you told the Autobots?” Megatron asked next, and… Alright, it kind of looked like Megatron wasn’t about to force the matter of aborting it.

Thank Primus for small mercies.

“You think I’d be out and about if I had?” Sunstreaker asked back, lifting his optics again to go back to glaring at the fragging _reason_ for all of this. “No, I haven’t.”

“Ratchet knows, though,” Sideswipe piped up. “He noticed it, but… We didn’t tell him who the, uh… Sire is.”

Megatron nodded at his brother before Sunstreaker became the target of his attention again. “Do you plan to tell them?”

Sunstreaker snarled. “And get court martialed? _No thanks.”_

“They will find out eventually,” Megatron pointed out, and did he sound… _Unhappy?_

But weren’t they _painfully_ aware of that minor detail already. “I know, okay? I slagging well know!” Sunstreaker growled further, pinching his nasal ridge.

What he didn’t know was what the hell to do about it. And… What, did he expect Megatron to have suggestions on that front? Did he expect Megatron to really _give a fuck?_

…But it was Megatron’s sparkling too, wasn’t it? Would that be enough to make him care?

Did he _want_ him caring?

Megatron’s engine revved hard enough that Sunstreaker looked up at him again. Megatron was considering him, his gaze heavy.

And then, “Join me.”

“...What?” _Did he…_

Sunstreaker growled a bit more for good measure. Did Megatron really mean what they thought he meant?

 _What the slag?_ “You want us to _defect?”_ he hissed. “It’s not enough that you get me fragging _pregnant,_ you want me to slag my whole life up even worse?”

Sideswipe took another step closer, practically vibrating in his plating.

“Do you have any future among the Autobots, if you intend to keep it?” Megatron asked steadily, and the fragger had no _rights_ to have a point. Sunstreaker’s engine roared and he’d brought out his sword before he could think better of it.

Megatron blocked his strike, but Sunstreaker dodged his retaliatory attack–

And Sideswipe was berating him for the utter _stupidity_ of fighting the goddamn mech who had ignited him. 

Sunstreaker couldn’t really find it in himself to care.

“You know you don’t,” Megatron rumbled at him, but he brought out his own sword, and off they were. Megatron, _still,_ treated him as an opponent worth his attention, and Sunstreaker, still, fought like he fucking well meant to _kill._

It didn’t matter he was carrying… Not to either of them by the looks of things. That was comfortingly familiar, at least.

 _“Shut the frag up,”_ he growled, cutting into Megatron’s side with one vicious attack that Megatron paid him back with an equal attack that he couldn’t get out of the way of. 

“It is _my_ sparkling, too,” the tyrant said then, and _there_ it was. Did he give a slag? Apparently he did, on some level. “I have equal rights to it.”

That was perfectly true, but, “It’s _my_ frame, _my_ life.” Could they talk about this again _after_ the sparkling had separated and he wasn’t so damn tied to it anymore?

Except by that time all of his comrades would know, and… 

_Pits._ “I’m not going to defect for you,” he nevertheless snarled, then grunted when Megatron drew blood—a favor he wasn’t able to return right away.

Sideswipe warned him that he was too _emotional_ to fight properly right then. He wasn’t thinking clearly, he couldn’t focus right—he wasn’t driven by his good sense.

He did it anyway.

“What's holding you back?” Megatron asked, pressing his attack, forcing him to back away, _“Loyalty?”_

He didn’t need to say it. If he was a _loyal_ Autobot, he would have never fragged Megatron.

If he was a _loyal_ Autobot, he wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with. 

If he was a _loyal_ Autobot...

Sideswipe’s alarm rang in his spark before something _snapped._


	15. Sins of the Mother

“–Called the Autobots. You need to _leave.”_

Sideswipe’s voice was the first thing that registered once his _senses_ returned. 

After that? The _pain._

There was barely a system in his frame that wasn’t flashing damage warnings at him. He was bleeding: energon, coolant, lubricant and oil all pooling beneath his supine frame. He could feel the wet of them soiling the earth, turning it into mud that seeped back into his frame. Cables were strained or entirely snapped, pistons broken, his engines _aching,_ driven so far past the point of redlining—pushed to their limits, and then some. 

That was the story for his entire frame, right then. 

And that was only the internal damage, brought by _him_ upon _himself._

It didn’t account for the damage Megatron had delivered on him.

Sunstreaker’s optics came online to the sight of twinkling stars between thin clouds–

–And Megatron straddling his frame, his sword pressed tightly against Sunstreaker’s neck.

This time… This time it was his skill that ran out. He hadn’t lost by a mistake, but because Megatron was simply _better,_ as was befitting the scourge of Cybertron.

His armor was split in so many places, only adding to the loss of fluids when underlying systems had been damaged, _severed._ Others parts were simply _crushed,_ useless crumpled metal—no doubt destroyed under the strength of Megatron’s grip.

A weak groan escaped his vocalizer, and Megatron turned his attention on him at once. “You’re with us again? Good,” the tyrant said, his red optics bearing down on Sunstreaker and sinking him further into the soil.

Megatron wasn’t angry, nor did he seem proudly victorious. Sunstreaker couldn’t tell _what_ the warlord was feeling, so tightly drawn was his field and neutral his expression.

But… Megatron looked like slag. Sunstreaker felt like slag and he was sure he looked the part too, but pits, he hadn’t gone down without one hell of a fight, had he?

The warlord’s armor was melted in more places than he could count, his thermal sword clearly having cut into him over and over again. There were dents on him all over, and… He was missing an arm entirely.

...Come to think of it, he couldn’t feel one of his legs himself. A quick glance down confirmed that it wasn’t a part of his frame anymore. So. There was that too, apparently.

“Get off of me,” Sunstreaker growled once he had scraped together enough thoughts to speak. He’d expected Megatron to frown at him and refuse the order, but instead the tyrant merely lifted his optical ridges at him and–

Got to his pedes. A little unsteadily, Sunstreaker noted, but he didn’t fall down.

That would’ve probably ended a bit badly for Sunstreaker, anyway. With the state of his frame… If Megatron had crashed on him, that would’ve _hurt._

Sideswipe appeared into his field of view then, and Sunstreaker’s optics flicked to him. Sideswipe looked a _lot_ worse for wear. Nowhere near as bad as Sunstreaker, or hell, Megatron, but it was clear enough that Sideswipe had fought Soundwave with all he had.

To keep him from intervening on Megatron’s behalf. He had wanted to give Sunstreaker honest chances instead of facing off against _two_ proven warriors.

Just one on one, for both of them.

And what had Sideswipe said? That he’d called the Autobots? Told them what had happened?

That they had run into _Megatron?_

_Why did you do that?_

“I will be in touch with you again,” Megatron promised in a deep growl, and Sunstreaker could just barely teek his displeasure, probably over the fact he was being interrupted. Once the Autobots got to the scene… With the state both Megatron and Soundwave were already in, it wouldn’t end well for them.

But they had a bit of _unfinished business_ now, didn’t they? The sparkling hadn’t gone anywhere, safely nestled against his own spark even if Sunstreaker still couldn’t feel it—but that was what sparklings did, for as long as his own spark still burned.

And Megatron had laid claim on it, made it clear he wanted _something_ to do with it. 

Told them to defect for that end… For the end of his time with the Autobots, that was _doomed_ to crash and burn sooner or later anyway.

He had no doubt Megatron would want to continue on the topic.

Sunstreaker didn’t, though, and just _snarled_ at the tyrant that gave him one more look before he simply _walked off._ Sunstreaker watched him fetch and subspace his detached arm before him and Soundwave set to run along the road. Their pedesteps sounded on the asphalt that broke under their weight, quickly retreating as they no doubt headed for an extraction point.

There was no way Megatron would be able to fly himself, with the state he was in.

Sideswipe stood guard until silence fell over the area again, only the cool night breeze rustling the leaves. It was… Peaceful. Infinitely peaceful.

Sunstreaker let his helm tilt until he was staring at the stars again. He hurt enough that he sort of wanted to die right then, but no, he wasn’t about to offline.

Now, entering stasis, that was a different matter entirely. 

Sideswipe took the two more steps he needed to close the distance between them, then dropped onto his knees next to him. He was shaking, and Sunstreaker could feel the pain in his frame too. Soundwave had done a number on him, but it wasn’t like his brother hadn’t _returned the favor_ —and succeeded in what he set out to do: keep Soundwave from interfering. 

“Ratchet should be here soon,” Sideswipe murmured, looking over the amount of damage on Sunstreaker’s frame.

There was nothing he was able to do to fix any of it without only worsening other injuries, and as much experience as they had with emergency patches, they didn’t have the skills to triage _this_ amount of damage. What was most urgent? They’d need Ratchet for that.

“You haven’t glitched in a while,” his twin continued quietly, his servo hovering over Sunstreaker plating—but there was nowhere he could touch without _hurting._

“I figure I’m excused in these circumstances,” Sunstreaker responded with a huff. Of course, it wasn’t like they could tell about _these circumstances_ to the other Autobots.

But Sideswipe had already thought of that, before he’d ever called the Ark.

A chance encounter with Megatron and Soundwave, nothing more. A fight ensued, predictably, and–

The sound of Skyfire’s thrusters interrupted them and Sideswipe glanced over his shoulder to see him arrive, quickly. No doubt their comrades were a bit alarmed after Sideswipe’s call. Ratchet was probably having a straight up fit. 

They waited in silence as Skyfire finished his approach and landed softly. Ratchet was the first one out of his hold, but Optimus, Ironhide and a small selection of their warriors followed him. 

“What the slag did you get yourselves into?!” Ratchet _not-_ yelled as he approached them at a walk so fast it was almost running. “What the frag made you take on Megatron? Why didn’t you call the Ark sooner? You little fraggers,” he continued to growl as he came to a stop next to them. Sunstreaker could feel his scans on him, and from the way Ratchet’s face darkened, he knew the amount of damage was just as extensive as it _felt_ like. “Why did you glitch, Sunstreaker?” the medic asked, and now he was _frightfully_ calm.

Sideswipe had the answer that Sunstreaker spoke without questioning it. “I didn’t see any other options,” he grumbled, letting his gaze fall to the side— _chastised._ “He would’ve scrapped us otherwise.”

No word of how it _hadn’t_ been under his control. 

“Please tell me you at least kicked his aft,” Ratchet snarled as Optimus and Ironhide came to stand behind him.

“I took off his arm,” Sunstreaker smirked.

“And then some,” Sideswipe agreed with a little snicker. “He was _fucked_ by the end of it.”

 _“This isn’t funny,”_ Ratchet hissed at him instantly, smacking the back of his helm. Sideswipe put on a sad face. 

“It kind of is, though…” he muttered ‘to himself’, but _everyone_ heard him. Ratchet growled at him, whacked him again, harder this time, but then scanned his brother too. There wasn’t near as much damage there, and none of it _insidious_ like what Sunstreaker had. Just the external marks of a fight well fought—not those of _breaking_ your own frame from the inside for the sake of _victory._

“You should have called earlier,” Optimus rumbled, Ironhide frowning deeply next to him. They couldn’t even claim they had thought they would have it, could they? They weren’t so dumb they would think they _had it_ when facing off against _Megatron._

And Soundwave. But even just Megatron would’ve been too much, most likely. 

“Heat of the moment,” Sideswipe said instead, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Yer bloodthirst gonna kill ya one day,” Ironhide said, sounding fifty shades of unhappy.

“But not today!” the red twin brushed that aside breezily. Ratchet got more reasons so snarl curses at him, right before he turned his attention back to Sunstreaker.

“I will put you into stasis, alright?”

This time Ratchet didn’t wait for any answer from him, just plugged into his systems and _did it._

Oh, he had to be _mad._

* * *

He onlined days later, according to his chronometer. Sideswipe was sitting next to him, playing some fps game on his HUD, although he put that down as Sunstreaker gained the rest of his awareness and looked his way.

Aside from missing patches of his paint and being scratched from helm to pede, Sideswipe was in full repair. Sunstreaker too, was only missing the _cosmetic_ fixes, but pits, it had taken Ratchet quite a bit of time. 

That wasn’t too much of a surprise though, seeing how far the rabbit hole he’d gone—seeing who his opponent had been, this time around.

Ratchet was standing on the berth’s other side, following his systems’ march to full functionality. Everything seemed to be as it was supposed to be in Sunstreaker’s opinion. There weren’t even any pains or aches, just the slight detachment of parts that hadn’t quite finished integrating yet. That would fix itself quick enough.

“The sparkling is fine,” Ratchet said before anything else as Sunstreaker sat up, prompting both of the twins to glance at him in surprise. But why had they expected Ratchet wouldn’t acknowledge the sparkling? He was their medic, and part of that was… You know, making sure they were healthy.

Down to little additions.

They could’ve gone without that acknowledgment, though.

“Cool,” was all Sunstreaker said to that. Ratchet frowned at him, but didn’t say anything more.

_Thankfully._

“How do your processors feel? Any changes?” Ratchet asked next, and that he should have expected too. He hadn’t glitched in fucking _ages…_ But at least everyone thought he’d done it voluntarily, this time.

That he was in truth pushed into it without his input… Sunstreaker wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was he relapsing?

Or was it perfectly understandable, considering everything that was going on in his fragging life right now?

“They’re fine. Did you check my coding?”

“I did. Some old strings were showing recent use, as I expected, but nothing undue was online anymore.”

So there was _hope_ the whole thing wasn’t going to repeat, if no additional damage had been done. Sunstreaker nodded his understanding.

As little as he wanted to stay on that topic after lying about it too, he would’ve still preferred it when Ratchet’s expression turned even more severe. Sunstreaker glared at him distrustfully as the medic planted his servos on the side of the berth and stared at him. “Sunstreaker,” he started, and man but he sounded serious.

This couldn’t be good.

“The sparkling’s combined spark signature matches no Autobot here on Earth—or any on Cybertron, for that matter.” So he had done his _research,_ had he? Sunstreaker shifted his optics to the wall and very decidedly _refused_ to look at the medic.

Ratchet let his words sink in for a moment before he moved to block Sunstreaker’s view.

Sunstreaker resolutely stared at the medic’s chest instead, scowling at the Autobot insignia that scowled right back at him. How easy it was to blame all of his problems on that damned thing.

That, and its purple counterpart.

“I’ll ask you again, and I need you to be honest with me: Who is the sire?”

He could feel Sideswipe’s optics on him, quiet, without judgement, but completely unhelpful too. Sideswipe strived to remain neutral and out of the way, even though he wasn’t exactly a _neutral_ party—but it was working for the moment, Ratchet’s attention squarely on _him_ instead of his brother. 

“None of your business,” Sunstreaker responded like he had fragging well responded before too, and his answer was _not_ going to change. He lifted his optics to glower at Ratchet, just to drive his point home—drive it home how much he was _not_ going to give _answers._

His stare was met with a look of frustration—and concern.

The concern aggravated him more than anger would’ve. Ratchet _should_ have been angry. Sunstreaker didn’t trick himself into thinking the medic hadn’t already figured things out, even if he didn’t know the specifics.

And yet he seemed more worried for Sunstreaker’s welfare than the number of instances of the Autobot code he had verifiably broken with the appearance of the little one.

So… What, did Ratchet think he had gotten forced? By a Decepticon, now that he had more or less _confirmed_ the sire wasn’t an Autobot?

What would he have thought if he knew he was an entirely _willing_ party in all of it, and really, brought this upon himself with his own actions that he never _needed_ to go through with?

What would he have thought if he knew just _who_ he had willingly fragged?

“I’ll make it my business,” Ratchet said. Sunstreaker started and at the corner of his vision Sideswipe straightened a little, the both of them surprised by Ratchet’s declaration.

He should’ve guessed Ratchet’s acceptance of their refusal to answer that wasn’t going to last, though.

“I’ll give you sixteen months,” Ratchet continued. “If you don’t tell me who the sire is before that, I _will_ tap into the spec ops’ records and compare the sparkling’s signature to… All recorded Decepticons.

“Once I do that, the command will be alerted, and I’ll have to give them answers.”

Sunstreaker glared. Sixteen more months. Even the twins’ patchy knowledge on these matters could inform them that that was about the time the _physical_ signs of carrying would begin to make themselves known.

It would be difficult to hide things, then.

He didn’t avert his gaze from Ratchet’s when he set his jaw. “ _Whatever_.”

Ratchet frowned, but he’d be damned if he let one grouchy medic scare him into submission after surviving heated relations with the Lord of the Decepticons himself.

And came home with proof to show for it, too.

Frag his life.

“...Are we free to go?” Sideswipe asked after the silence had stretched for an uncomfortable while, ready to jump out of his damned armor after spending _days_ doing nothing but wait for Sunstreaker’s repairs to be completed. His restless energy bled right into Sunstreaker until he was faring no better.

And right about now would be an excellent time to get the fuck away from here and abandon Ratchet’s questions.

Both brothers stared at Ratchet expectantly. 

The medic sighed before reluctantly nodding. “You’re fit for duty. I assume you still don’t want to be pulled from battles?”

“No.” He _very much_ didn’t want that.

“Very well.” Ratchet gestured towards the door and they took the hint and beat it out of there.

They should have gone to the rec room to fuel themselves, because they were both low on energon, or slagging tended to their paint jobs because they were in fragging _terrible_ shape, but instead… Frag, there was so much built up _energy_ and so many messy thoughts that they _needed_ to do something about.

So they headed for the training room instead.

It was empty, this time around, and they headed straight for the ring, more than ready to throw down, and…

Probably argue in their goddamn head a little bit.

They could never _really_ fight with each other, whether that was physically or mentally. Being tied and intertwined on a level as deep as split-spark twins were… When you _knew_ what your other half was doing and thinking every second, when your thoughts and actions belonged to the _both_ of you—their ‘sparring’ was something else. There was no attack one could make that the other couldn’t see coming and block or dodge–

–And there was no block or dodge the other wouldn’t see coming.

They always struggled to _injure_ each other, and never got the upper hand, but the _speed_ with which they could go at it… Primus, as fast as their baseline identical frames just functioned.

It was more dancing than it was fighting, more a show than real practice. They could lose themselves into it, into pushing their frames to their very limit because _why not…_ Let their thoughts run and wander.

Megatron knew, now, and he had made it clear enough he wasn’t going to let it be _just Sunstreaker’s._ He wanted a part of it too, but how the fuck were they supposed to do that when they were in the opposite sides of the war?

 _Defect._ That was what Megatron wanted them to fragging do. Join him, carry to term for him—abandon the Autobots and the fact they couldn’t possibly _ever_ accept the sparkling, not with who it belonged to. It would solve the issue of what the pit they were going to do once the sparklet became impossible to hide.

So what was holding them back?

_Loyalty?_

They had never held loyalty to anyone but themselves. They followed the Prime, but it was a surface level thing, just an excuse to get to participate in the war and little more. They didn’t _believe_ in the Prime–

–But neither did they believe in _Megatron._

Their species was fragging screwed no matter what happened, in their opinion.

It was just them. Just the one-two of them against the whole _world_ if it came down to it.

...Except that couldn’t be true anymore. A _little something_ had come along and turned everything upside down.

They had to be fucking crazy to not get rid of it. Nothing would need to change if they just terminated it. 

But that thought still didn’t sit well with him. He _still_ didn’t want to do it. Damn Primus and damn Unicron, damn the Thirteen, but _he didn’t want anything to happen to it._

Megatron didn’t seem to be a threat to it, but he couldn’t say he trusted the _Autobots_ to not do anything to it—about it. If he wanted to keep it _safe…_ Could he stay with the Autobots? Once he inevitably could keep it secret no longer, what would happen?

Did he have any _options_ but _leave_ the Autobots? Sooner or later?

_Careful._

They had an audience, Sideswipe had noticed, but that wasn’t what he was warning him about. His thoughts were slipping again, emotion rising. His vents were running hotter than they needed to. 

It was _his,_ slagging _his._ How could he allow anyone even the _chance_ to do anything to it? 

He faltered, physically. Sideswipe didn’t take the opening, merely pulsing his _warning_ at him. He wasn’t in his best anymore.

The way he’d snapped when Megatron had pushed the matter too far. He hadn’t in so long, because he knew how destructive he could become. 

But he didn’t fear it, and Megatron had never accused _him_ of fearing it. Only offered a new perspective: _was it not worth it?_

Wasn’t it worth it to triple his abilities and become more dangerous than what most mecha could ever manage? Dangerous enough that he could tear _Megatron_ to pieces, even if he had lost in the end?

Sideswipe’s memories. He’d fought Soundwave, but had always kept an optic on the fight Sunstreaker had had with Megatron, too.

The speed, the strength, the ferocity—when he became a living embodiment of those things, nothing on his mind except _victory at any cost._

Violence. So much violence. Drive his frame to its limit, then push it past it, and _keep pushing_ until it couldn’t take it anymore—but _feel none of it._

He was next to unstoppable, he knew it. He never had any memories of it, just the moment where his spark disconnected from his processors–

–And then the moment when it reconnected and he felt _everything_ his frame had put itself through.

But Sideswipe could fill the gap with images of his frame functioning under the command of broken coding and a damaged mind, like a puppet on strings. Moving faster than he should have been able to, hitting harder than he should have been able to, taking more damage than he should have been able to _withstand…_ Losing himself.

He’d never feared it though. Maybe it was because of how much damage he had endured, how shattered his psyche was. Maybe he would have feared if he was any _saner._

But he wasn’t.

_Careful, Sunny._

He snarled, but refused to back down. He should have. He really should have, but Ironhide was coming closer, concern on his face—and Sunstreaker’s motions weren’t as smooth and fluid as they were supposed to be. Sideswipe went on the defensive only, his optics locked on him.

Megatron hadn’t blamed him for _snapping._ _Megatron_ approved of his glitch, thought it should be used as a tool, an extra gear–

Megatron wanted him to join him. 

_‘If you fought for_ me _I would use your_ full _potential.’_

 _What options did he have?_ What would he gain if he stubbornly stayed with the Autobots?

What would he lose if he joined _Megatron_ instead?

How _cornered_ was he?

Sideswipe revved his engine, but it was hard to focus on his brother’s cautioning.

Really hard.

Sunstreaker growled, feeling his blood pump _faster_ in his lines–

He could dimly hear Ironhide’s warning shout–

...But nothing more after that.


	16. Bleed Me Dry

“Pits, Sunstreaker.” Ratchet ran a servo down his face. Prowl was standing behind him, his doorwings tense and a very unhappy frown as his expression.

“I fix you and you break yourself all over again in _two hours?_ I _wish_ that was a new record for you!” Ratchet ranted, but Sunstreaker knew he was more worried than angry. _They_ thought this was the first time in a very, very long time that he had _lost it_ out of his control—that his _willing_ glitching against Megatron had had more effect on him than everyone had initially thought.

Sunstreaker knew this was now the second time his frame got the better of him, though admittedly… He hadn’t fought it as hard as he could have. He was too frustrated, too angry.

Sideswipe had paid the largest price for it. They were equal when both were in control of their minds, but once Sunstreaker _snapped…_ Sideswipe had nothing that could match him. Sideswipe wasn’t _damaged_ in the same way.

Sideswipe never stood a chance.

Neither did Ironhide for that matter.

Or Cliffjumper.

Or Hound.

Or Brawn.

It had taken Jazz’s intervention to end his rampage. The TIC definitely had all the tricks necessary to neutralize him, berserker or not.

Everyone else was only lucky it all had been contained to the training room.

It was the… Fucking worst _episode_ he’d had even long before he had gained near full control of himself. For the longest time they had ended after he had taken down his primary opponent. Everyone knew to just stay out of his way, to not make _threats_ of themselves until he’d run his course.

That should have worked.

It hadn’t, this time. They had stayed out of his way, and he had _still_ scrapped the lot of them. 

Now all five of them lay on the medical berths in the medbay proper in various stages of fragging _slagged._ Sideswipe was the worst of them; he’d beaten his brother straight to unconsciousness. The others weren’t much better off, but really, they were just lucky he hadn’t straight up _killed_ them. 

Sunstreaker himself had been confined to a private room under the fear that his mental stability was on a steep decline. And… He wasn’t sure he could really disagree with that assessment. That had been pretty bad, even he could admit that much. 

Ratchet didn’t bring it up, though, but Prowl did. He _had_ to, when the safety of the entire Ark crew was brought into question. “How do you feel?” the doorwinger asked him.

Sunstreaker frowned. “Fine.” Aside from the physical things, anyway. His frame was _again_ broken well beyond his ability to categorize the damage, but that was nothing new.

The terse answer definitely wasn’t what Prowl wanted, and his wings twitched before he looked at Ratchet. “How is he, medically speaking?”

Ratchet pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge. It took him a few moments to answer. Prowl waited patiently, Sunstreaker, not so much. He was sort of dying to know how badly his _mental health_ was declining. He didn’t _feel_ terribly bad, but… Stress was his trigger.

And he had quite a few reasons to be stressed, which didn’t work out in anyone’s favor. Push him even a bit further towards the edge, add just _one_ more stressor… Would this just repeat?

He was just going to get locked in the brig for everyone’s safety, if that was how things would go from now on. _He’d been there before._

Had for most of the war, really.

“Some of the old code has activated,” Ratchet responded at length. “I was unsuccessful in turning it off or isolating it without bringing Sunstreaker into nonfunctionality as a side effect.”

Nice to know Ratchet had decided to keep him _functional._

“So this is going to repeat?” Prowl asked sharply, his frown deepening. Both him and Sunstreaker were staring at Ratchet intently.

But the medic shook his helm. “Not necessarily. It does make it more _likely,_ but he’ll still need a significant trigger to cause the final cascade of errors.”

Prowl mused on that for a moment before he shifted his attention back to Sunstreaker. “What triggered you this time?”

...Right. Wouldn’t they love to know. 

“I was thinking about the fight with Megatron while Sideswipe and I sparred,” Sunstreaker answered, and that was _half true,_ wasn’t it? “I think remembering the glitching triggered it again. At least it felt like that.”

Prowl looked at Ratchet for confirmation. The medic shrugged. “Perfectly plausible.”

The tactician nodded sharply. “Sunstreaker, I will keep you in full duty once your repairs are completed. I would prefer if you spent the next month in the brig when you aren’t on duty or away from the Ark, but I won’t enforce that.”

Sunstreaker frowned, but that was fair enough considering the number he’d done on _several_ of his comrades. “I can do that,” he agreed. Partial loss of freedom, then. “I assume I’ll get my supplies?”

“Of course.”

Nice. But, “What about a punishment?” There was no way Prowl would let him off the hook that easily, if only because the other crew members would start a fucking riot if he _wasn’t_ punished for nearly offlining a bunch of them, mitigating factors be damned. 

“I will think of something suitable and inform you later,” Prowl said with an incline of his helm. Sunstreaker nodded his acceptance of that. So, hang around in the brig for the time being until he’d proven he wasn’t going to _snap_ every few moments, and wait until Prowl came up with an actual punishment on top of that.

Pretty mild, all things considered.

“If that’s all..?” Prowl asked, glancing between him and Ratchet. Sunstreaker shook his helm.

“I’ll comm. you if something comes up,” Ratchet grunted. Prowl nodded to that before he left the room, the door closing on his heels.

And then it was just him and Ratchet, and that wasn’t how Sunstreaker would have preferred it when Ratchet immediately brought up the one thing Sunstreaker didn’t want to talk about at all. “This is about the sparkling, isn’t it?”

Sunstreaker glared, but Ratchet only frowned back at him.

For the longest time neither of them said anything, Sunstreaker refusing to confirm or deny a damn thing, and Ratchet’s field growing more frustrated by the second.

The medic eventually broke the silence. _“Medical confidentiality,_ Sunstreaker. You can tell me, and no one else will hear about it. Why won’t you trust me?” Ratchet didn’t say it, but it still hung between them: _like you have before._

They’d told many, many things to Ratchet, things they hadn’t spoken about with anyone else, because Ratchet would keep quiet. They’d _trusted_ he would keep quiet.

Just… Not about this.

This was too big.

Sunstreaker averted his optics and said nothing. The silence stretched on, and on, and _on,_ but this was one thing he’d _never_ tell to any Autobot.

_It would come to light eventually, anyway. It was just a matter of time._

So what did it matter if he sped up the process? Told someone?

No. He couldn’t do that. Pits, he was fragged either way, but _he couldn’t do that._

Let _time_ do it for him if it had to. 

Ratchet gave up after what felt like an eternity, sighing heavily, and Sunstreaker could feel his hurt no matter how he tried to hide it. “Okay,” the medic said quietly before he straightened himself and brushed it all aside and away. “I will put you into stasis until I’ve done your repairs.”

Sunstreaker nodded, Ratchet plugged in, and stasis it was.

Again.

* * *

If he had been ostracized for his bad attitude before, now everyone did so twice as hard. It was vexing, but he wasn’t surprised the vast majority of them would react like that to his rather _extreme_ burst of violence. The Autobots were soft, feebleminded things that didn’t speak the same language he and Sideswipe did.

The lot of them had never been to the Pits and back.

And they feared what they didn’t _understand._

Megatron had said it. Where Sunstreaker could only feel _apathy_ when it came to his case of _insanity,_ and where Sideswipe just accepted it as it was, his _comrades_ were afraid of it.

Megatron wasn’t. Megatron had fought him, a berserker going _berserk,_ and once he’d won… He had shown no hard feelings. Had only acknowledged the return of his faculties, left it at that. Like it was _no big deal._

Was that the overarching theme among all the Decepticons? Most of them originated from the low castes, knew what the life at the bottom was like—if they weren’t straight up gladiators themselves.

Would _they_ understand?

He continued to be tetchy, but while he was sure everyone expected him to _snap_ at any moment, he didn’t feel _that_ level of stress.

At least, so long as he didn’t think too hard about the mess his fragging life had become. Ratchet’s threat hung over everything he did. Even if he’d had some hope of keeping the identity of the sparklet’s sire a secret even once it became impossible to hide he was carrying… That wouldn’t be if Ratchet found out about _Megatron._

Sixteen months. That was how long he could pretend his life was _fine._

After that… Slag if he knew.

And he had no fragging clue what he expected to happen or what he even wanted Megatron to do about it, but he wanted to inform him of Ratchet’s threat. Just… _Pits._

_Why?_

Because Megatron was the only one who was even halfway an _ally_ in this situation? The only one who even knew? Well, him, and Soundwave. Soundwave knew too. Maybe some other Decepticons too. How could he be sure Megatron saw any reason to keep it to himself?

How sad was that, that the goddamn leader of the enemy army had become his _confidant._

The worst enemy of his own leader.

He was going all over behind Optimus’ back. What was _some more of that,_ huh?

They started to take the longer patrols again. No one really questioned it, just _happy_ when Sunstreaker wasn’t grumping around the Ark—and Prowl approved of his supposed attempt to burn out his energy with the long ass drives.

The less he had of that, the less likely he was to bring some more pain on his fellows, right?

But for the longest time, it just didn’t _work._ Megatron had said they’d be in contact again, but there was absolutely no sign of him even as the days stretched to weeks, and weeks into a full month.

And then there were only _fifteen_ months left for him. 

Two more weeks, and he was ready to fucking _explode_ every moment he spent awake. Sideswipe did his best to keep his mood from souring any further, but there was only so much even his twin was capable of.

He didn’t glitch again, though, even if it was a damn near thing a few times. But Sideswipe dragged him from the scene every time, shoved him in their quarters— _distracted_ him. 

Month and a half, then they _finally_ got some results. Not in the exact way they were hoping for, but when Soundwave’s signature popped up on their scanners, some ways ahead of them… Frag, it was better than _nothing._

So they sped up until they could see the telepath standing on the side of the road, looking their way already.

Waiting for them.

“Where’s Megatron?” Sunstreaker _demanded_ as soon as he and Sideswipe had transformed, stalking towards the blue mech that, to his credit, didn’t back down.

“Megatron: busy,” Soundwave answered. A thunderous growl rose in Sunstreaker’s engine.

“I’m carrying that bastard’s slagging _sparkling_ and he’s too damn _busy_ to show up?” _What the fuck?_

“Megatron: leader of an army,” and how Soundwave managed to make that mechanical voice of his sound _cold,_ Sunstreaker would never know. 

But clearly Soundwave wasn’t too impressed with his attitude. “Soundwave sent instead,” the TIC continued. Sunstreaker threw his arms up.

“So I should be _grateful?”_

“Yes.” 

...Well, he wasn’t expecting that level of bluntness. The brothers blinked at Soundwave before Sunstreaker shook himself off and started to pace back and forth in front of the Decepticon. Soundwave wasn’t Megatron, but Soundwave _knew,_ and it appeared Megatron had sent him for the explicit purpose of–

Actually, come to think of it, how the pit had either Megatron or Soundwave known he had something urgent enough on his mind that it was worth it to _just_ send Soundwave?

“Soundwave: knows all.”

Was that a _fucking_ joke?

“You!” Sunstreaker rounded on the taller mech, jabbing a digit at his chest. “Stay the frag out of my head!”

“No.”

_Oh my god._

Sideswipe laughed out loud, prompting Sunstreaker to snap at him too before he went back to pacing around, glowering at the blue mech all the while. “At least slagging wait for me to _talk_ like a normal mech. _Seriously.”_

Soundwave said no more, so Sunstreaker took that as the telepath’s acquiescence. 

No doubt Soundwave knew exactly what was going on in his head already, but he did actually stay silent for the duration it took for Sunstreaker to organize his thoughts enough to put them into words. There were a few false starts, but then, “Ratchet wants to know who the slag the sparkling’s sire is,” Sunstreaker ground out. “He gave us sixteen months before he’s gonna check the spec ops records for ‘Con signatures. And that was six weeks ago.” So, fourteen and a half months anymore.

“Desired course of action?” Soundwave asked.

And if Sunstreaker had known the answer to that, he’d be one happy mech.

But he didn’t, so he stopped in his pacing and dragged both of his servos down his beautiful fragging faceplates. “I don’t slagging know, okay? The sparkling’s signature is gonna become scannable around that time too, right? So someone else might realize who the sire is too. And even if that doesn’t happen, I’ve got no faith in Ratchet being allowed to keep it a secret.”

He could see Soundwave slowly nodding from the corner of his optic. Mech probably knew more about the Autobot code than he did. _Soundwave knows all,_ was it?

So was that confirmation that the identity of the sparkling’s sire would override medical confidentiality?

Sunstreaker’s shoulders slumped. There was no good ending to this, was there?

“Defect?” Soundwave said—asked, _offered?_ Sunstreaker dropped his servos to properly glare at the mech.

 _“No,”_ he snarled. Frag it all but he wasn’t going to just _defect_ because of this.

Even if his days as an Autobot were most likely _numbered._ If nothing else, he was sure to get dishonorably discharged once the command learned about this whole damn mess. 

And that was really the _best_ outcome he could realistically hope for. The other options went downhill from there.

Soundwave didn’t argue like Megatron likely would have. He merely nodded again. “Soundwave: will relay information to Megatron.”

“Thanks,” Sunstreaker said and Sideswipe nodded along. At least Megatron would be in the know.

What the slag he would do with the info, Sunstreaker just didn’t know.

And all of this after he couldn’t even be bothered to _show up._ Leader of an army yeah yeah, but he had slagging gotten him _pregnant. Wasn’t that pretty important too?_

Soundwave probably heard those thoughts too, but he didn’t say anything about it. “This all?” he asked instead.

Sunstreaker gave it a few seconds of honest thought because who knew when the frag the next time he’d have any line of communication with Megatron would be, but he came up empty. “Yeah,” he responded with a small shrug. “That’s all.”

Soundwave nodded, ejected Lazerbeak, and transformed. Lazerbeak had a glance at them before he grabbed Soundwave in his claws and… Flew off.

Some way to get transported around, geez.

The twins stared after the retreating wannabe vulture for a while before Sideswipe walked over to his side. His brother was still pulsing amusement and Sunstreaker glared at him too for good measure.

But there was really nothing for them to do now, except wait and see what would happen—on any front, be it coming from Ratchet, or Megatron.

Slagging Megatron who sent his goddamn _third in command_ in his place because he had more _important_ things to do than give the time of day to _Sunstreaker._

Who was carrying his fragging _sparkling._

Oh, the damn mech would hear about that still. 

Sideswipe snickered at him before they transformed and continued on their patrol, never to report the ‘Decepticon activity’ they’d already run into. 


	17. One Finger and a Fist

Sunstreaker flipped things the other way around. Instead of the longest patrols, he had Sideswipe switch all of those out in favor of the short or medium ones, ones that went through more densely populated areas—providing Megatron no chances to see him even if the damn warlord had wanted to do that.

And based on the looks he got during battles… Oh, he _wanted_ to. They were long, meaningful glances his way, though as the battles multiplied and he refused to entertain the fragging _sire_ of his little secret, the looks he got turned into outright glares.

Megatron was growing frustrated, there was little mistaking that, and yet Sunstreaker refused him any and all chances to have some _private_ time with him. If the slagger couldn’t make the time for him, he fragging well couldn’t expect Sunstreaker to do so either. 

_Bastard._

It didn’t matter that sometimes it felt all of the Decepticons ganged up to drive him straight into Megatron’s waiting arms, no doubt so they could have a little _talk,_ but their efforts were in vain when both him and Sideswipe fought their hardest to keep that from happening. They offered _none_ of their cooperation, and it worked. There was little the ‘Cons could force them into when they banded together with the level of stubbornness they were displaying right then—and used their fellow Autobots to their advantage, too.

If it drove Megatron fucking _crazy,_ all the better. He _deserved_ it.

That continued for weeks that slowly turned into months, and still Megatron was allowed no success in cornering Sunstreaker. Mech might’ve been the sire of his sparkling, which afforded him full rights to said sparkling, but damn him if Sunstreaker was willing to let go of his grudge so easily. 

He was probably breaking some pre-war laws with his behavior, but it wasn’t _pre-war_ anymore, was it? And he wasn’t exactly sure if either the Autobot or the Decepticon code said anything about what to do when you got knocked up by the opposite side and then proceeded to refuse the sire access to the resulting sparklet. If anything, that was probably the preferable course of action.

Even if it was a little too late to pretend you were a loyal little ‘Bot or ‘Con at that point. Unless you got raped, anyway.

Sunstreaker—somewhat unfortunately seeing his current dilemma—had not gotten raped. He had no excuses.

And time kept ticking on towards Ratchet’s deadline. 

* * *

Exactly twenty-one weeks later something finally gave. He was walking with Sideswipe to their quarters after a visit to the washracks, looking forward to polishing up both himself and his brother—provided he’d manage to keep Sideswipe still long enough.

But he had his ways to get his twin’s cooperation for this most important of tasks.

Sideswipe was chatting away about some heavy metal concert him, Jazz and Blaster were going to attend, gesturing excitedly about all the bands that would be performing. Sunstreaker grunted something here and there to keep the ‘conversation’ going… But the both of them were silenced the moment they stepped into their quarters.

 _Ravage_ was laying on the bottom bunk of their berth like he had not one concern in the world. The panther stared at them almost lazily as they entered, and suddenly they were both in a hurry to have the door close—and lock—on their heels.

“What the pit are you doing here?” Sunstreaker hissed as soon as they had their privacy, stalking towards the cat that didn’t look _any_ concerned over his approach and his potential for violence. 

That only made him angrier.

“You have refused Lord Megatron’s efforts to contact you, carrier,” Ravage answered smoothly. “I was sent with a message.”

Sunstreaker snarled and Sideswipe joined him by his side, both of the brothers glaring at the cassette that just _would not lose_ that look of aloofness.

It was driving him _mad,_ and he wasn’t too hopeful things were about to get any better. “Really?” he growled, glowering at the cat. “And what might that message be?”

“Quite simply, Lord Megatron has an _ultimatum,”_ Ravage said, sounding almost _bored._ “Either _you_ tell the Autobots about the sparkling _and_ its sire… Or _he_ will.”

Red. That was all he saw as Ravage’s words sunk in.

Megatron was fragging _extorting_ them. It wasn’t enough that Ratchet was _promising_ to uncover the identity of the sparkling’s sire to Sunstreaker’s grief, oh no. Now _Megatron_ was threatening to do the same.

 _“When?”_ Sunstreaker ground out, his servos flexing with the desire to rip the cassette to fucking _shreds._

“When it suits him,” was the answer he got, spoken so flippantly.

Sunstreaker growled hard enough that it vibrated his frame from helm to pede. What then, would he just need to _wait and see_ when Megatron saw fit to make his whole life crash and burn around him? 

“Get the frag _out of here,”_ he hissed through clenched denta. He wasn’t going to play these fragging games, that much he was sure of. Announcing himself that he was carrying, and carrying _Megatron’s_ offspring?

To hell with that! If Megatron wanted the Autobots to know, he could fragging well tell the lot of them himself.

Just as he was promising to do if Sunstreaker didn’t take action within some unknown frame of time. 

“‘Screw you’, then? Should I pass along anything else?” Ravage asked like he wasn’t in the presence of one volatile mech about fragging ready to _lose it._ The slagging… _Arrogance_ the cat was displaying.

Maybe he should snuff the damn cassette, just to _make a statement._

Sideswipe moved before he could though, closing in on the berth in two long strides and grabbing Ravage by the back of his neck in a hold tight enough to dent before Ravage had the time to get out of the way. The panther yowled in offense that his brother paid no mind to, just dragged him to the door before bodily _throwing_ him out of their room. 

True to his feline reflexes, Ravage landed on his pedes, but unfortunately for him, Bumblebee was turning the corner right then. The minibot exclaimed in surprise, and the alarms sounded a second later.

To his credit Ravage only stood frozen for that second before he bolted down the hall. The twins didn’t bother to go after him, knowing the rest of the Ark _would._

Sunstreaker distantly wondered if the cat would even make it out, or if he’d get captured.

_Would serve him right._

But an hour later there was a knock on their door. Sideswipe was still standing, his arms crossed across his chest and an unusually serious look on his faceplates. But this was kind of serious. If Megatron told everyone… Slag, what would they do then? What would the _Autobots_ do?

And what the fuck was Megatron’s endgame? Why would he want to tell the Autobots? To lay a proper claim on the sparkling?

Or to force Sunstreaker out of his faction?

He figured it was probably a combination of both.

Sunstreaker had sat down on his berth a long time ago, but looked up when Sideswipe triggered the door to open. Prowl stood on the other side. “May I come in?” he asked.

Sideswipe nodded at him and the doorwinger stepped into the room. “I was informed Ravage appeared from your quarters,” Prowl went on to say. Straight to the point, no pleasantries.

Sunstreaker scowled, but Sideswipe answered. “Yeah, he was here.”

No point in trying to deny that when there was a goddamn witness to the whole fiasco.

“Do you have any idea what he was doing here?”

The tactician was frowning, and… Yeah, this looked pretty bad, didn’t it? Why would one of Soundwave’s intel collecting cassettes be in the _twins’_ quarters? They were nothing but low ranking grunts and there was verifiably nothing worth knowing to learn from their room, or from them.

But Ravage hadn’t been here to learn things, this time around.

“Lost, would be my guess,” Sideswipe said. “He crawled from under the berth a while after we’d come in. Didn’t even notice him before that.”

Lies, lies, lies. And not necessarily very believable ones either, but frag, there was little about this situation that would make any sense without the _context._

And they weren’t going to tell the context to damn anyone, no matter Megatron’s fragging _threats._

“I see.” Prowl only frowned harder, glancing between them. They both stared back, refusing to back down in any shape or form. They’d fragging well die with their lies and secrets if that’s what it took.

“I would like your full reports at earliest convenience,” the SIC continued, and they both nodded at him.

“Sure. We’ll write ‘em up and bring them to your office,” Sideswipe said. It was Prowl’s turn to nod, after which he bid them goodbye and took his leave.

Slag fragging _everything._ The door closed once Prowl was through, leaving them alone. Again.

Somehow he felt like they were going to hear about this again though, one way or another. _Damn Ravage._

Damn _Megatron_ for sending him. Which was worse, Megatron informing everyone, or Ratchet finding out and letting the command know?

He was pretty sure Ratchet was the lesser evil at this point.

Sunstreaker let his helm drop into his servos. So… What? Should they just tell him before Megatron would make good on this threat? Or would that even be _enough_ for the tyrant? _Tell the Autobots._ Would it be enough that the command knew and treated him accordingly, _maybe_ giving the reason for whatever consequences he’d face to the rest of the crew? That was a big maybe.

Or did Megatron really expect him to tell _everyone,_ just so there was no confusion as to what he’d done?

There was a knock on their door again. Sideswipe frowned at the door; Sunstreaker felt a bit too tired to even react.

His brother triggered the door to open, again. This time it was Ratchet that walked in. “Are you two alright?” he asked, scanning them both as soon as he was in. The door closed after him.

“We would’ve come to the medbay if we weren’t,” Sideswipe replied honestly.

But Sunstreaker could feel Ratchet’s optics on _him._ That was enough to make him lift his helm and glare at the medic. _“I’m fine,”_ he stated, _very_ firmly. 

Ratchet didn’t look like he at all believed him. Sunstreaker couldn’t blame him.

“Do you know why Ravage was here?” Ratchet asked as Prowl had asked.

And as with Prowl, Sideswipe answered with a simple, “Lost, methinks. Why else would he have been in _our_ quarters?”

But Ratchet didn’t even glance at his brother, his gaze locked on Sunstreaker.

Ratchet wasn’t dumb. They knew he wasn’t, and with everything else that had already happened… Ratchet had to be _so_ suspicious over what was going on, and could likely put two and two together when it came to this situation too.

The sire was a Decepticon, hadn’t he already figured out that much just by virtue of crossing out other options? And now there had been one particularly sneaky Decepticon in their quarters.

Yeah, that looked _bad._

“Twins,” Ratchet sighed, looking for a moment like he was trying to find the best words before he continued, “I understand your reservations seeing how the situation is,” he said, _cautiously,_ “but I can’t emphasize it enough. Your medical information will remain confidential _no matter what.”_

Ratchet put a lot of weight behind those words. Sideswipe glanced at Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker scowled, but still.

After everything.

Every _assurance._

All the _trust_ they’d ever had.

He

Said

_Nothing._

Sideswipe huffed a round of air from his vents. “I think you should leave, Ratch.” No one said it, but there it was, in the air all around them.

_You’ve kept a lot of things secret for us, but not this._

“Sunstreaker–” Ratchet started, but said twin didn’t let him finish.

“Out. We have nothing to talk about,” Sunstreaker said, forcing his voice to be even and calm.

The opposite from what he was _feeling._

If Ratchet had known… He would have hoped, so ardently, that Ratchet could be an ally to them in this situation—that they wouldn’t need to rely on just _Megatron,_ who had already turned against them with the threats he’d made.

But especially after their encounter with Soundwave, Sunstreaker couldn’t believe, on any level, that Ratchet could keep this confidential.

No matter how he wished, and… Maybe no matter what Ratchet himself wanted.

There was only so badly you could betray your own side before it would need to be brought to light by anyone who came privy to it, though.

“Sunny–” Ratchet tried again, but Sunstreaker cut him off with a growl, rising onto his pedes.

 _“Out,_ Ratchet. _Now.”_

His frame was shaking just so and Sideswipe straightened. Ratchet had to see the danger too.

He _still_ wouldn’t leave. “I–”

 _“OUT!”_ Sunstreaker roared.

And… _Pits_ but he could practically feel his processors misfiring. Sunstreaker pressed one of his servos to his forehelm, grinding his denta together. _Not right now._

Finally Ratchet took the motherfucking _hint,_ though, and left without another word. Sunstreaker collapsed back onto the bottom bunk, grabbing his goddamned _helm_ with both servos. His vents ran fast and hard, but… Frag, he was still _himself,_ wasn’t he? What a fragging _success._

Sideswipe moved after a minute and sat down next to him. His brother was what he always was—steadily _there,_ not providing a single judgmental thought, not thinking any _less_ or any _more_ of him for what he was, what he did, what he said… 

Just _there,_ no matter what.

At least that wasn’t going to change even if everything else in his life was quickly falling apart.


	18. Coming Undone

_Tick tock,_ the time traveled on—too fast for comfort. 

Sunstreaker didn’t make a move in any direction though. He didn’t announce his pregnancy to the Autobots any more than he told Ratchet about Megatron. And even when the months rolled onward… Megatron didn’t make good on his threat.

But it was anxious waiting, knowing that any single moment the tyrant _could._ He had no way of knowing, and he doubted he would get any warnings.

He only had to wonder what method Megatron would use to _decisively_ destroy Sunstreaker’s life (further than he already had, anyway). Megatron did everything decisively. There was no reason to think Sunstreaker would be any exception, once Megatron set his mind on him.

Or on the sparkling, rather. Sunstreaker doubted it mattered one bit who the carrier happened to be, just that the sparklet was _Megatron’s._ What had been the tyrant’s options? Give no fucks and let Sunstreaker do whatever he wanted with it, demand that it be terminated, or… As he had seemingly chosen, _enforce_ his claim and rights to it.

Regardless of what _Sunstreaker_ thought about that.

Was any of this more than a ploy to get Sunstreaker to his side, because that would, by extension, bring the _sparkling_ to him? There had never been any emotions involved in their liaisons, had there? At least there had been none on Sunstreaker’s part—other than _lust_ and _thrill,_ anyway. Physical things, the enjoyment of each other’s frames…

But nothing about _emotions._

He highly doubted it was any different for Megatron.

Of course, then that whole thing had led to the creation of new life, and didn’t that complicate things fast and hard. Now Sunstreaker by all appearances _mattered,_ if only because he was the carrier. Still, that was probably the depth Megatron’s caring went, and he’d turn back into nothing but a pretty fling once he’d delivered the sparkling.

That didn’t particularly motivate him to take Megatron’s offer and _defect._ He had very little hopes of a future among the Autobots… But did he have any more of a future among the _Decepticons,_ once the sparkling had separated?

Weeks went on.

Months.

Megatron never stopped trying to pressure him into some alone time with the tyrant, as much as _battles_ were his only opportunities to even do so, these days. They still didn’t take the longest, riskiest patrols, nor did they stray far from the Ark or populated areas on their time off.

But Primus, the battles. He could hardly focus on the _actual_ battle from the miniature one he had with the Decepticons no doubt ordered to get him within Megatron’s reach. Half the time it didn’t even look like Megatron was interested in being secretive about it—which made sense, considering he’d already threatened to make everything _public._

He didn’t know if he was getting paranoid, or if the other Autobots—on top of Ratchet—started to suspect something was up. Was he getting more looks than usual? Did Prowl look a bit more calculating than he always did? Was Jazz frowning behind his visor?

Pits, was he imagining it all or not?

He knew he wasn’t helping matters himself, though. He had barely let up on his _bad attitude_ since they had discovered the sparkling, and for even him to continue with the bad blood for this long… It wasn’t usual. His moods were supposed to _fluctuate._

Now it was always _one word away from tearing into everyone._

Primus bless Sideswipe. His brother was the only one that kept him from glitching slagging _weekly,_ always removing him from situations that were threatening to turn too stress inducing, playing the buffer between him and the rest of the world.

No one needed to know how close to _snapping_ he now came on the regular. Ratchet though… He was pretty sure Ratchet suspected.

He got slagged practically every battle, all thanks to the ‘Cons paying _way_ too much attention to him. That naturally landed him into Ratchet’s care.

And whenever he was brought online, Ratchet gave him a _look._ It could be just about the sparkling… But it could also be about the fact more strings of old, long dormant code were starting to online as the fucking stress in his life kept _continuing._

He wasn’t particularly stable anymore, was he?

It could also be that Ratchet was among those who supposedly noticed the ‘Cons treating him a bit different nowadays. That they for sure slagged him while trying to get him to do as they— _Megatron_ —wanted of him, but never to the point where his life would’ve been at risk. Megatron’s doing too, no doubt. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to his precious _sparkling._

More than once he could feel Ratchet desperate to ask him things, no doubt wanting to know the identity of the sparkling’s sire that he still had absolutely no plans of disclosing.

But Ratchet didn’t outright ask, just talked about other medical things and—when there was no one else around to overhear—updated him on the sparkling’s health and progress.

Everything was going as it was supposed to, on that front. It was doing fine and growing stronger by the day.

 _One_ thing he didn’t have to worry about.

Everything else was plenty enough.

* * *

“You’re avoiding me.”

He started and spun around on his heel as soon as the voice sounded behind him— _that_ voice, _his_ voice. 

Just in time to block the sword that would’ve generously cut into his chassis otherwise.

Sunstreaker swapped his gun for his own sword.

“Damn straight I am,” he hissed back, jumping back from Megatron’s next attack only to strafe to the side and cut into the goddamn mech’s arm when it moved to block the strike of his sword.

Then he was jumping back again. Megatron was _relentless._

Apparently they both had some _frustrations_ to air.

“The slag you’d expect after that stunt with Ravage?” Sunstreaker continued, keeping his volume low enough that no one would overhear them. The din of the battle around them at least worked to drown out their voices.

“I wouldn’t have needed to send Ravage if you hadn’t avoided me even before that,” Megatron growled at him. Sunstreaker barely got out of the way of another vicious attack.

Huh. It was almost like Megatron was trying to _kill_ him.

“You sent _Soundwave_ in your place because you were _busy,”_ Sunstreaker snarled right back, returning each and every one of Megatron’s attacks with equal force.

There was no way he was going to let Megatron slag him without slagging him right back. 

“I have a _war_ to win,” came Megatron’s argument.

 _Not valid enough._ “And I’m carrying your fragging _sparkling!”_ Sunstreaker growled out as quietly as he could. That was one thing he wanted no one else to hear. “I think that affords me some additional _importance,_ you fragger.”

“I sent Soundwave because I _trust_ him.” Megatron narrowed his optics at him. “I could have sent _anyone else,_ too.”

“So that’s supposed to make me feel important?” Sunstreaker went back to hissing. Was it clear enough he _wasn’t impressed?_

Megatron growled at him and his next attack came with such speed and ferocity that Sunstreaker couldn’t avoid the deep cut across his chestplates. He grunted, then glared.

The tyrant already had a topic in mind to discuss _next,_ though. “You haven’t told the Autobots yet.”

“Nor will I,” the twin promised.

“You want _me_ to do it?”

 _Slagger._ “Frag no,” Sunstreaker snarled. “They have no slagging business knowing.”

“They _will_ find out eventually,” Megatron reminded him. “At the very least when your _dear_ medic informs them. Is _that_ what you want?”

“No!” _Fraggit…_

“It’s _you, me,_ or the _medic,_ Sunstreaker. You can’t hide it forever,” the warlord rumbled at him. Listing his options. Three, now? Wow, wasn’t that a lot.

Three flavors of _fucked._

“Go fucking frag yourself!” This time he didn’t say it quietly, in the way of something that was meant to stay just _between them._ Oh no, everyone could hear how much he hated the damn mech, as far as he was concerned. Let _that_ become public knowledge.

“It is _mine,_ too,” Megatron reminded him of that fact for good measure, although he had the decency to continue to keep his volume low.

Aside from the angry revving of his engine. 

Neither of them was enjoying this conversation very much, were they?

“Leave me the slag alone, you fragging bastard,” Sunstreaker growled, successful in cutting a deep gash on Megatron’s abdomen.

Denial—wasn’t that a lovely thing. How long could he _deny_ that he couldn’t hide the sparkling forever?

How long could he _deny_ Megatron’s right to it? 

How fragging long would Megatron let him _get away_ with that?

“Megatron!”

...That was probably the first time in his life Sunstreaker was glad for Optimus’ interruption. He disengaged from the warlord when the Prime came barreling to the scene, ending their conversation right there and then.

Well, at least unless Megatron decided now would be a good moment to inform Optimus of what Sunstreaker had been up to behind his back. 

But the tyrant merely snarled at his nemesis and let Sunstreaker retreat from the scene. He slipped back into the rest of the battle, taking out his mounting frustrations on the tyrant’s troops.

* * *

He landed in Ratchet’s care after the battle, of course he did. Ratchet was… Surprisingly quiet as he worked on him.

He had also suspiciously left Sunstreaker as the last one to be repaired, even though he wasn’t convinced he was the worst injured. The medbay was now empty aside from him, Ratchet, and Sideswipe.

It had both him and Sideswipe edgy, his brother standing next to the wall with a frown on his face and arms tightly crossed across his chassis. Sunstreaker wished he could have copied the posture, but Ratchet was welding his chestplates back together, undoing the slash Megatron had left on him—that had, coincidentally, cut straight through his insignia.

Or had that been Megatron’s intent? A bit of a _hint_ for him?

Either way, he’d need to repaint it once all of his pieces were put back together. His chestplates were the last thing, so that would be very soon. 

It turned out, though, that he and Sideswipe were right to feel a bit apprehensive. Ratchet cleaned up the weld mark after he was done and made sure his chassis’ transformations still worked–

–And then he leaned on the berth next to Sunstreaker, staring not at Sunstreaker, but at the space between his braced arms.

All was quiet for a tense moment that was only filled by the sounds of their three frames… Then Ratchet spoke up. “It’s Megatron, isn’t it?” he asked. Both twins started, although really… Shouldn’t they have seen this coming?

Everything that had been happening, the Decepticons’, _Megatron’s_ increased interest in him during the battles… And the latest battle where the warlord actually managed to corner him. If it was suspicious to everyone, how much greater indicators would they be to someone who already knew he was carrying? For a Decepticon?

But Ratchet continued with, “Was he the one to force you?”

...That probably shouldn’t have surprised them either. It would be so unlike Ratchet to think the worst of them, and if he thought it was Megatron… Well, would anyone deny Megatron had all the strength required to _force_ even a warrior of Sunstreaker’s caliber? And that he was cruel enough to do so, too?

It didn’t matter what Ratchet thought, though. The truth was what it was, and the truth was that Sunstreaker had been a willing party the whole way.

He couldn’t blame this on just Megatron. He shared equal fault, and he _could_ lie… But just as easily could that lie be proven wrong.

So what was he going to lie about? About who the sire was, or about the method of the sparkling’s conception?

Or would he tell the _truth?_

“Megatron?” Sideswipe asked incredulously, drawing the attention of both Sunstreaker and Ratchet. His brother blinked at the medic. “Why would you think it’s slagging _Megatron_ of all mecha?”

Ratchet frowned. “Do you want me to list all the reasons for why I think it’s him?”

Sunstreaker growled. “Thanks but no thanks. It’s not _Megatron,_ alright? _Primus,_ Ratch.” 

So. How about he lied about _both_ the sire and the circumstances of his ignition? That was going to work out _great_ for him, right?

Ratchet’s frown deepened, though Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if it was because they told him he was wrong about the sire, or because they didn’t _deny_ that Sunstreaker hadn’t been a willing party in the whole damn affair.

“Sunstreaker–”

“I’m fragging _done_ discussing this, alright?” Sunstreaker snapped, throwing his legs off the berth and getting up. He was _repaired_ already, wasn’t he?

Now all there was to do was repaint the insignia of the faction he had shown _thorough_ disloyalty to.

How much longer would he even be allowed to wear the Autobrand?

How much longer did he _want_ to wear it?

“This whole deal? Doesn’t concern anyone but _me,”_ he continued in a growl. “So mind your own _fucking_ business. Please.” 

Ratchet stared at him for a moment longer, and Sunstreaker glared back. Sideswipe took a step away from the wall, but–

Things didn’t explode, because Ratchet’s shoulders slumped. “Three months, Sunstreaker,” he said, quietly, and Sunstreaker knew exactly what he was counting down to.

Three months until Ratchet would check the spec ops’ records, compare the sparkling’s signature to known Decepticon signatures, and find a match in Megatron.

After they had just said it _wasn’t him._

Sunstreaker clenched his jaw, felt Sideswipe’s question of _what to do–_

And _doubled down._ “Whatever, Ratchet. _Whatever.”_

Ratchet sighed, heavily, but Sunstreaker ignored that and instead headed for the door. He hadn’t been given permission to leave, but slaggit, he wasn’t _staying_ either.

Not if this was what they’d be talking about.

But Sideswipe glanced back at the door… And Ratchet was still leaning against the empty berth, but now with his optics tightly closed and his face twisted in an expression they rarely ever saw the stalwart medic wear.

_Pain._

The doors slammed shut behind them.


	19. All the Things He Said

Every day grew more tense as the sand in the hourglass slipped away. His time was running out. Sooner and sooner Ratchet would access the spec ops records, and then it would be all over him, wouldn’t it? Jazz, Optimus, Prowl, Ironhide, _Red Alert_ would have questions that Ratchet would have to answer.

They would all find out, and then what?

_Then what?_

No doubt Red Alert would demand the greatest punishment, although Sunstreaker wasn’t at all sure what that might be. Was it possible they’d straight up execute him? He wouldn’t have put that past them.

Exiling him would’ve been well preferable to that. Incarcerate him?

What would they do to the _sparkling?_ While it was still in his frame, and after it had separated?

Did he want to stay to find answers to those questions, or should he leave before they could make him face the consequences of his actions?

Where would he go? To _Megatron?_ Or somewhere else?

_Where else?_

Where could he go? And would Megatron even let him go, after he had made it clear he wanted his hands on the sparkling? 

Or would he simply be hunted down and dragged to the Decepticons?

He was likely safe from _that_ fate if he stayed with the Autobots, but was what the Autobots would do to him any better?

Megatron, at least, had stopped harassing him after their one mid-battle conversation. Apparently he’d gotten to _discuss_ what he had wanted to discuss—probably mainly the reminder of what he had promised to do if _Sunstreaker_ didn’t.

Tell the Autobots.

But so far, there had been no word from the tyrant.

It was quiet on all fronts, _for now,_ but he could sense Ratchet’s mounting concern. Sunstreaker, personally, thought that Ratchet didn’t want to find out answers in a way that would break his precious _medical confidentiality,_ but what was he doing except forcing the medic’s hand with his refusal to tell who the sire was?

With his refusal to admit it was Megatron?

* * *

“Sunstreaker, Sideswipe,” Optimus greeted them in the rec room. They were sitting in their corner table as usual, and if Sunstreaker’s presence didn’t just create a lovely bubble around them that no one dared to cross the threshold of. 

No one except the Prime.

Optimus spoke quietly enough that snooping ears couldn’t hear him, which was enough to make Sunstreaker tense from helm to pede. _Now what?_

He glared.

“Wazzup?” Sideswipe asked with an easy smile, leaning back in his seat.

“Could I speak with you two in private?” the Prime asked. Sideswipe cocked an optical ridge at him.

Sunstreaker growled. “If it’s not something we can talk about in _public,_ then we’re not talking about it.”

Optimus gave him a _look,_ but that was nothing new. Happened practically every time they talked, really. Sunstreaker didn’t lose his glare any more than Sideswipe lost his smile even as he sipped from his cube.

If Optimus wasn’t as kind and forgiving as he was… Well, Sunstreaker wasn’t sure he’d even be an Autobot at this point, after everything he’d done and all the disrespect he’d shown. 

And soon enough he might just use up all of Optimus’ goodwill, and then what? The million dollar question. He highly doubted even the Prime could forgive relations with _Megatron._

“Very well,” Optimus said, surprisingly, and took a seat opposite from them. Even Sideswipe frowned at this point, setting his cube down.

“Seriously, Prime, what’s this about?” his brother asked, and wasn’t that what they were both curious over. 

“Ratchet has been very concerned over you,” Optimus rumbled, glancing between them. His voice was low and quiet, just enough to travel across the table to them, and no further.

Sunstreaker’s optics narrowed. “What’s he said?”

“Just that he’s worried. You know Ratchet would never speak of anything confidential.” Everyone knew that. As bad as Ratchet’s bedside manner was, as grouchy as he could be, one thing he was, was _reliable._ Optimus may have been his leader, and if Sunstreaker hazarded, his _friend_ too, but that wouldn’t be enough for Ratchet to speak of things that were between him and his patients.

Beyond saying he was worried about them it looked like, anyway.

“Did he ask you to talk with us?” Sideswipe asked, a little disbelieving. Optimus for sure tried to be everyone’s buddy despite being the leader of the whole damn faction, but it couldn’t exactly be said he and the brothers had ever been too close. They had too many issues with authority figures, especially as maddeningly _soft_ ones like Optimus, to really appreciate the Prime to any measure.

Not a great foundation for anything more than barely passable relations, as much as Optimus never held it against them. He still _tried._

As he tried now too. “No, he didn’t ask me to. I wanted to ask you myself. Is everything alright?”

What the frag made him think they’d tell _him_ even if something wasn’t? Sunstreaker frowned harder, and next to him, Sideswipe mirrored the expression.

“Yeeeaaahhh?” his brother almost _asked,_ because you know, _why wouldn’t everything be just dandy?_ “Everything’s fine? I’m not sure what Ratchet’s worried over.”

Sideswipe paused for a thoughtful effect before he continued. “Well, unless it’s about Sunny’s glitch. That’s been acting up.”

“I remember,” Optimus sighed, his optics resting on Sunstreaker. “But you have had quite a bit of luck keeping it under control since, have you not?”

“Thanks to Sides,” Sunstreaker grunted.

The Prime frowned at the suggestion behind those words. “What has caused it to act up like this?” Damn, wasn’t he just _so_ concerned. For who, though? For Sunstreaker and his mental health on a downward spiral, or for the rest of the Autobots he’d become an instant threat to if he lost control of himself?

Probably a bit of both. Optimus was just so… _Altruistic._

“Haven’t you noticed Megatron’s given me an uncomfortable amount of attention lately?” Sunstreaker asked, raising one of his optical ridges for good measure. “If that’s not stressful, I don’t know what is.”

Look, he wasn’t even _lying._

“I have noticed,” Optimus said carefully, like the whole situation was a powder keg ready to explode.

With Sunstreaker on the scene, that may as well be true. “Do you know why he’s given you that amount of attention?” Optimus continued, looking at him with _concern._

But that was probably fair enough when your worst enemy was gunning for one of your soldiers.

Sideswipe cracked his knuckles mentally. Time to fabricate some _falsehoods._

“You remember that one time Megatron and Soundwave ran into me and Sides?” Sunstreaker asked, and continued after Optimus had nodded at him. “He said something about remembering me, that time. We have some… _Unfinished business,_ that he didn’t manage to finish that time either.

“I think he’s trying to finish it now.”

Optimus frowned and considered his words for a moment—and the implications behind them. “What kind of ‘unfinished business’, if that isn’t too much prying?”

Aw, wasn’t he just so _polite._

Sunstreaker stayed quiet just long enough to make it look like he was considering how much and _how_ he would tell about this—for reasons that should become obvious when he finally spoke up. “There was a deathmatch,” he said, a bit cautiously. See, their past was a bit of a sore topic, wasn’t it? So violent and filled with _death_ even before the war that most Autobots were just uncomfortable when it came up. 

They didn’t want to hear about everything they had been through. It was just too _disturbing_ for their fragile little sensibilities. “It ended before either of us _died,_ which is… Not supposed to happen. _Ever.”_ He gave Optimus a meaningful look, the kind that said ‘you wouldn’t understand, but just take my word for it’.

Optimus nodded again, more slowly this time as he started to catch onto what Sunstreaker was getting to.

Sunstreaker said it out loud anyway, just so there was no confusion. “I think he’s trying to grudge kill me now, now that he remembers me.”

“Don’t worry, we’re not about to let that happen,” Sideswipe piped in with a fierce grin. The Prime frowned at him in disapproval, to which Sideswipe merely shrugged. So they were a little bloodthirsty, and too fearless for their own good. Sue them.

“Is there anything you would like me to do about that?” Optimus asked kindly.

Sunstreaker snorted. “Kill _him,_ maybe? Would solve a lot of problems.”

The Prime had a pause before he sighed. “Yes, that is the goal, isn’t it?” he said quietly enough that Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if it was even aimed at them at all.

They said nothing. Optimus eventually cycled another ventilation, and nodded at them. “Thank you for your candor, twins.”

 _Candor._ Right. 

Sunstreaker nodded back, as did Sideswipe. 

Optimus took his leave, and alone they were again—but not for long, because someone whose intelligence was as lacking as their height decided to come their way after the Prime had left the room.

‘Cause you know, Optimus wouldn’t have particularly approved of Cliffjumper antagonizing them, but that was all Cliffjumper knew how to do. 

What did they ever do to him? Were activated in the wrong city? Had the wrong frame type? A past he didn’t approve of? _A little too shaky loyalties?_

“Everyone’s starting to notice something’s up,” Cliffjumper said as he came closer, stopping outside of grabbing distance and placing his hands on his hips.

“And _what is up,_ exactly?” Sunstreaker asked, narrowing his optics at the minibot.

Cliffjumper leaned towards them. “You and _Megatron_ are what’s up. You’ve been eyeing each other for _months._ So what’s going on there, huh?“

Was it just Cliffjumper looking for any excuses to blame them for _unbecoming_ behavior?

Or had their comrades actually noticed the change?

Sunstreaker snorted. “He wants to _kill me_ is what’s going on there?”

Sideswipe laughed. “You’re reaching even harder than usual, CJ!”

The minibot wasn’t discouraged. “Am I really? What’s with him not trying to fragging ‘kill you’ this hard before, tell me that.”

Easy. “Because he didn’t _remember me_ before,” Sunstreaker said with a good, big roll of his optics. “Now he does and wants to finish what he started way back when.”

“That’s what we figure, anyway,” Sideswipe shrugged, “Not a hell of a lot of other potential explanations.”

Cliffjumper growled at them, but he had no solid _proof,_ did he? So he’d noticed their looks, the lowkey _drama_ between them—noticed _something_ was going on.

But he had no way to prove it was anything more than what the twins suggested it was. He didn’t know about the sparklet steadily growing next to his spark.

But he would soon. _Everyone_ would know soon, once its signature strengthened enough to become noticeable on top of that of its carrier. 

And then… He could only imagine what Cliffjumper would accuse him of _then._

He might even hit home.

“Say what you say,” Cliffjumper huffed at them, his arms coming up to cross across his slagging _mini_ chassis. “You won’t be able to hide the fragging truth forever. Did you jump on that spike already? ‘Cause I think you did.”

This time Sunstreaker laughed and Sideswipe snorted. “Riiiight, he fragged _Megatron,”_ Sideswipe said in full mockery. “And lived to tell the tale?

“Frag off, Cliff, seriously.”

“Why don’t you do what your name suggests and go jump off a _real_ high cliff?” Sunstreaker smirked, hiding his expression behind his cube.

Cliffjumper growled at them again, but turned to leave. “We’ll see who laughs last, fraggers.”

Yeah—and it probably wouldn’t be him and his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffjumper should pursue a career as a clairvoyant, his foresight is 20/20.


	20. Black Heat of True Love

_Time’s up._

Sixteen months. Sixteen months since Ratchet discovered the sparkling that was only a little older than that.

Sixteen months since Ratchet made his threat to do what he had to to uncover the little one’s sire.

And the sparkling itself… It was getting big enough for its signature to start to show. It was faint, so, so faint for now, but it was _there._ If you looked any closer, noticed the anomaly in Sunstreaker’s spark signature and focused on it… It was _there._

Megatron still hadn’t shown up, and Sunstreaker wondered if he was lying when he said he’d let the Autobots know—trying to cow Sunstreaker into doing it himself, into wrecking his whole goddamn life _himself._ Because now, it was _Ratchet’s_ time that was up. Soon Megatron could do no more damage than what had already been one. 

Couldn’t bring his life into even greater ruins.

Not after the command learned about this.

But still… Sunstreaker hadn’t told Ratchet, and now, as the sparkling was becoming more obvious, he _still_ refused to make the truth any easier to find. He sequestered himself in his and Sideswipe’s quarters whenever he wasn’t on duty, or left the Ark and all of its mecha behind entirely to spend time where there was no one to read spark signatures. He didn’t step a _pede_ in the rec room; Sideswipe brought his ratios to him.

But he still had his duties. Primus, he was _terrible_ company during them, to an extent that mecha started to actively swap their duties with Sideswipe—or with anyone else dumb enough—just so they wouldn’t have to deal with him. That worked in Sunstreaker’s favor when he didn’t have to quite as constantly worry that _any moment_ someone could check the spark signatures around them, and notice there was one more than what there were mecha present—and that the additional one layered on top of _Sunstreaker’s_ signature.

Sixteen months to the _day_ and Ratchet called him into the medbay. Sunstreaker went, reluctantly, because he had a pretty good idea of what this was about… And that his hopes of escaping it were growing slimmer by the minute.

He still didn’t know what the frag would happen to him, or what the frag Ratchet would think once it was confirmed that the sire was Megatron after all. Sunstreaker wasn’t too eager to find out either, but what choice did he have? Just _run away_ right about now? Desert?

Damn if the thought wasn’t starting to look a lot more tempting.

To that end… Him and Sideswipe gathered their few personal possessions and stored them in their subspaces—just in case they’d need to make a hasty exit for their own safety.

For the sparklet’s safety.

But first, Ratchet’s summons. As ever in recent times, it was a tense walk through the Ark, from their quarters to the medbay. The worry that someone would walk by and _notice_ was his constant companion now. 

_He’d brought this on himself._

He’d made some ill advised decisions, given in to _lust_ and _thrill…_ And now it was his time to pay for it.

Sideswipe said nothing, became nothing but his steady, constant companion as the medbay doors opened for them. Ratchet was waiting, arms crossed across his chassis, his expression infinitely serious.

Had he found out already?

No, he hadn’t. “Last chance, Sunstreaker,” he said instead, after the doors had closed behind them. _“Please_ tell me who the sire is so that I don’t have to alert the whole command.”

“What does it matter?” Sunstreaker asked, frowning. _Glaring._ “Scan me,” he continued. “The sparkling’s already noticeable. _Everyone’s_ gonna know soon enough.”

“That you’re carrying, yes,” Ratchet conceded, matching his frown. “But not the identity of the sire, necessarily. If you tell me who they are, I will not be within my rights to tell anyone.

“But if I need to access the spec ops records… I will have to share that information with the command.

“Sunstreaker, please think about this.”

He wanted to. Pits, _what did he have to lose at this point?_ One way or another, Ratchet would learn—but here it was, the smallest of chances that _no one but him_ would need to know the specifics. 

It wasn’t even a real gamble anymore. He could maintain his silence and lose, or he could tell the truth. Maybe it would change nothing—maybe Ratchet would have to disclose that information no matter what he said.

But maybe, just _maybe,_ he could keep it to himself. Tell no one. Leave it between the two-three of them. 

Someone might find out anyway, at some point, but pits… Maybe no one would.

Or was it realistic to even hope for that much? Cliffjumper at least was already suspicious, and would no matter go out of his way to get a sample of Megatron’s spark signature to see if it was a match to the sparkling’s.

And even without that, what about Megatron himself? He wanted something to do with the sparkling—wanted to claim it. He’d already threatened to announce himself as the sire, as much as he hadn’t done it _yet._ Sunstreaker didn’t doubt that sooner or later the warlord _would_ demand to get his hands on the sparklet, and invoke his rights as the sire to do so. 

But would all of that be easier to weather with Ratchet on their side?

 _What could he lose by telling the truth,_ anymore?

Sunstreaker worked his jaw and tried to will himself into saying what he’d kept silent about for nearly a year and a half by now. If anyone deserved to know, it was Ratchet.

If anyone might _understand,_ it was Ratchet.

But before he could get the words out, the _alarm_ sounded. Near everyone was called to the entrance of the Ark, them and Ratchet included. That was… Unusual, to say the least, but Sideswipe shrugged at him.

They’d just have to continue this afterwards, once they could actually _talk_ about it, instead of just… Tossing it out there. He wanted to hear Ratchet’s thoughts and not have to wonder what they were because there was a fragging battle or something between the _truth_ and the _aftermath_ of telling it.

The brothers turned on their heels and set to run down the halls towards the entrance, Ratchet following them at a slightly reduced pace.

Most of the Autobots had already assembled there. _Eager_ fighters as they were, the twins pushed to the front of the group, next to Ironhide–

–Before they actually looked at what the slag was going on.

Sunstreaker wasn’t sure what he was expecting after an alert such as this, but he still froze when he saw Megatron and his… Entourage.

That was all it could be called, because it was nowhere near enough to be any threat to the Autobot forces at their own damn doorstep. There was Astrotrain, Soundwave, a few Seekers. No one else.

It was almost like Megatron hadn’t come here to _fight._

“What is the meaning of this, Megatron?” Optimus asked with a booming voice once most of the Autobots had made it to the scene. Ratchet pushed to the front too, standing on Ironhide’s other side. Sideswipe glanced at him.

Ratchet’s expression was… Tense.

But not surprised, confused, or distrustful, like most others’. 

Sunstreaker only had optics for Megatron. If looks could fragging _kill,_ the warlord would be dead ten times over. 

“I came to collect Sunstreaker,” was Megatron’s answer. _Frank._

Way too frank.

Murmurs rose among the Autobots and Sunstreaker could feel so many optics on just _him,_ now. 

But he didn’t avert his gaze from Megatron, nor did it turn any less murderous.

So. This was it, now, wasn’t it? Megatron’s ultimatum was here. Neither Sunstreaker nor Ratchet had acted fast enough—if Megatron would have even been satisfied with anything more than a _full_ publication of their affair.

By the end of _this,_ he doubted there would be anyone who didn’t know what he’d done.

“On what grounds, Megatron?” Optimus asked, and pits but he sounded _angry._ Megatron, meanwhile, only had an air of confidence, the kind someone would wear when they knew they were in the right and _would_ get what they wanted. 

Sunstreaker wasn’t sure Megatron was wrong with that presumption.

And Megatron’s answer to Optimus came like a wrecking ball through all the life Sunstreaker had ever had: “On the grounds that _I_ am the sire of his sparkling.”

If there were optics that hadn’t turned to him yet, they did now.

“I slagging knew it!” Cliffjumper yelled, but most of the other sounds around them were nothing but exclamations of surprise or horror.

Sunstreaker’s armor trembled.

He didn’t avert his gaze from Megatron. The tyrant met it evenly.

Slagger knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

“Is this true?” Optimus’ volume lowered enough that it was clear he was addressing Sunstreaker now…

But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t look away from Megatron, and the only sound he made was the _revving_ of his engine.

Anger. A hell of a lot of it.

“Scan him,” Megatron said after a moment. There were a few seconds of hesitation before Sunstreaker felt many, many scanners sweep over him. He knew what they’d find, and indeed there were gasps, _disbelief,_ as they made out the sparkling, _his_ sparkling… And then other scans that reached _past_ him, to Megatron.

Read his spark signature, compare it to the one existing next to Sunstreaker’s—find a _match._

“Kid…” Ironhide breathed next to him.

Sunstreaker wouldn’t look at him.

He wouldn’t look at _any_ of them as his life crumbled around him, crashed down into rubble and ruins–

–All thanks to what he’d done.

All thanks to what Megatron was doing.

Who could he blame more, himself or the warlord?

“Did you _force_ one of my soldiers?” Optimus asked, and pits, but he was almost growling. So fucking unlike him, so _angry_ on Sunstreaker’s behalf—thinking of the _bad_ option immediately.

And not of the even _worse._ Because _surely_ Sunstreaker _couldn’t have._

Not with _Megatron._

But he had.

“Oh, but I didn’t _force_ him, did I, Sunstreaker?” Megatron said, so _smug._ He was methodically _destroying_ everything—until there would be nothing Sunstreaker could say.

Until he’d have no place to go.

His servos clenched into fists, his engine _growled…_ But what could he do? Megatron only spoke the truth, because the _truth_ was bad enough—worse than any lies could have been. Lies he could have proven long, _lies_ would not have changed a thing.

But he couldn’t deny the truth that could be proven as such. _One look_ into his head, just _one look_ at his memories, and they’d see him spreading his legs and _moaning_ for Megatron’s spike.

They’d see him _betraying_ his side—sleeping with the one mech who was supposed to be his worst enemy. The one who’d brought _ruin_ to Cybertron, ruin upon their species… And now, ruin on Sunstreaker’s life. 

“Sunstreaker,” Optimus said, and from the corner of his vision he could see the Prime look at him, concern, anger, and disbelief on his face. _“Is this true?”_

He ground his denta together hard enough that his jaw hurt from the tension, and his silence spoke for itself. He didn’t _deny_ it, did he?

But neither did he confirm it, and to Optimus that wasn’t proof enough one way or another. He looked back at Megatron and took a step forward. “Even if that were true,” he started, his voice rising again so everyone could hear him, “you cannot force Sunstreaker to go with you if he doesn’t want to.”

Megatron didn’t have the decency to look so much as annoyed. “It is _my_ sparkling. I have as much rights to it as its carrier.”

Somehow Optimus still managed to keep his voice from falling into a straight up growl. _“The carrier should have control over their own life.”_

The tyrant then bypassed Optimus entirely, his red, _evil_ optics moving to Sunstreaker. “What do _you_ want to do, Sunstreaker?” he asked, although not for one moment did Sunstreaker fool himself into thinking the bastard gave one flying fuck about what he wanted.

He was just playing games—tearing Sunstreaker’s past life to shreds he’d never be able to put back together.

“You _could_ have gotten rid of it,” Megatron continued, tilting his helm like he was fragging _inquisitive._ “But you didn’t. You _kept_ it, and told _me_ about it.

“Why is that?”

He didn’t fragging know anymore! He’d known keeping it was a mistake from the beginning, but… Primus, he’d never known why he made that decision.

That decision now landed him here. The Autobots at his back, at his sides, _murmured_ to each other in low voices, trying to make sense of the situation and _condemning_ him and his actions—fragging the enemy, _willingly,_ and keeping the end result when that left him ignited.

Keeping something that was part _Megatron,_ the cruel despot whose actions were straight from a mech’s worst nightmares—that every Autobot was sworn to _fight_ to prevent him from gaining full control over their species.

 _That_ Megatron had sired _his_ sparkling, and he’d _kept_ it. It was growing within his spark chamber even as they spoke, the evil seed of one of the most _vile_ mechs in Cybertron’s history. 

How could he just _stand there_ and let it _live_ in him?

“Come here, Sunstreaker,” Megatron said then, his voice _firm._ Sunstreaker sneered. Slag Megatron if he thought he could just order him around!

But the tyrant continued, “You have no future among _them,_ and you know it.”

And… He couldn’t really argue with that.

Optimus could, though. “Megatron! I cannot permit you to walk here and… _Threaten_ one of my soldiers–”

“I’ve only spoken the _truth,_ Prime–”

“–It is Sunstreaker’s decision to make, you cannot–”

Sunstreaker tuned their argument out. _Was it_ his decision? 

Maybe on the surface. He’d be the one to make his own frame move.

But did he have _options?_ That was a different question entirely. Could he stay with the Autobots? After _this?_ His reputation and his name were _branded_ for good, and no one would forget _Sunstreaker_ had borne the bastard child of _Megatron._ He was an outcast to begin with, never quite fitting in—never even really _trying_ to. He wasn’t like most other Autobots, not with his background, not with his upbringing. The rift was great to begin with, and this… This would only turn it into an impassable _canyon._

Megatron was right, he had no future among the Autobots.

What, then, could he do? Could he go his own way? Go _Neutral?_

Wasn’t the answer to that a resounding _no?_ What would make anyone think Megatron would let him while he was still carrying his sparkling? While Megatron was here, claiming the sparklet he was carrying, _demanding_ that he go to his side?

What did that leave him with? 

He’d never been a victim, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Without a single glance back or off to the sides, with optics for no one but _Megatron,_ Sunstreaker stepped from the Autobot ranks. One step. Ironhide made an alarmed sound. He could barely feel the weapons specialist’s digits brush against his arm.

 _Two_ steps, staring the tyrant in the _fucking_ optic.

Three steps. Steady, steady steps. Not once did he falter, not once did he _hesitate_ as Megatron’s face drew into a victorious smile. 

“See, Optimus?” Megatron yet antagonized his greatest enemy, gesturing at Sunstreaker. “He made the decision _all on his own.”_

_What else could he do?_

What kind of _decision_ was this?

“Sunstreaker!” Optimus called after him, “You don’t need to do this.”

“Oh, but I _do,”_ he hissed, just loud enough to carry to _everyone’s_ audials.

Sunstreaker spun around on his heel, taking steps backwards—never once halting in his retreat from the Autobots. “I spread my legs for your _nemesis,_ Optimus,” he said, _loud and clear._ “I let him ‘face me into the fragging _dirt._ I got ignited, although that much was an accident, but I didn’t _tell_ anyone. I _lied_ about it to everyone—I lied to _your_ face. I lied to Ratchet.

“I lied to the _bitter end,_ Prime.” He could feel Megatron’s field at his back, thick, oily, triumphant, _welcoming._ Sunstreaker spread his arms as he took that last step to his _lover’s_ side. “Would you accept someone like _me?”_

“Sunstreaker–” Optimus tried.

Megatron’s heavy servo landed on his shoulder and Sunstreaker cut his _former_ leader off. “I was never yours to save, Optimus.”

_It was never more than a mistake._

Sideswipe hadn’t moved yet, but now he did—only to be stopped by Ironhide, grabbing a hold of his arm. “Sideswipe…”

There was only one way this could go.

They were _twins._

Sideswipe didn’t meet Ironhide’s optics when he yanked himself free from the old mech’s hold. “I can’t leave him.”

With that Sideswipe ran the distance between the two sides of the war, coming to a stop by Sunstreaker’s side. He stole a few glances at Megatron, but the tyrant was _smiling_ at Optimus. “Now that I have what I came here for… Thank you for your _hospitality,_ Optimus.”

He turned to the brothers and nodded towards Astrotrain, who transformed into a shuttle at the cue. “Get on Astrotrain. He’ll fly you.”

Sideswipe nodded and turned to leave, as did Sunstreaker—but not without one more fleeting glance towards his former faction. 

Oh, how many shocked faces and betrayed optics they were leaving behind.

But he walked out of there with his helm held high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was originally meant to be longer, but I eventually decided to cut it into two parts because the stage changes so drastically. The scope of the coming second fic is also larger.
> 
> In other words, the story’s not over. A lot of plot points and such were left unattended/unresolved, because they were always meant to be addressed in what became part two of the series. I haven’t completed the second part’s outline yet though, so I’m not sure when I’ll actually start writing/posting it. Plus Harem AU needs some love too.
> 
> Thanks for reading to the non-end this was!


End file.
